COLLARED BY THE CHRISTIAN GREY
by SusanArden
Summary: Christian Grey works at Evermore Ranch during the week, but come Sunday, he's at Spurs & Leather as head club Dom. Grad student, Anastasia enters his secretive world, researching BDSM as her ticket out of Texas...until she crosses the line into Christian's bed and gets the education of a lifetime. When Ana ends up missing, he risks exposing his hidden life in order to rescue her.
1. Collared by Christian Grey Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

ICE CRUNCHED UNDER Christian's boots as he headed for the back door of his club. On a jaunt from his pickup truck through the freezing weather, he glanced up and did a double take. His entire focus trained on the woman walking around the corner of his building, talking on her cellphone—so engrossed she almost missed her step. Acutely aware of her, his body jerked from the impulse to offer his help but she was feet away and now appeared fine. To his astonishment, she sauntered up to one of the blacked-out windows and tried to peer inside. _What the hell?_ She'd better not be another reporter. He'd give her a memorable tongue lashing she'd not likely forget.

After the last hassle that came from his partner speaking to the press, he had his fill of nosy people and their equally aggravating questions. The explosive interest in BDSM hot spots was great for business if his mission was to make a ton of cash. More often than not, people wanted to sample the lifestyle in some fast-food manner—drive-thru sex on the way to their next adventure. Not him—this life was etched into his genes. He stared at the woman for a couple of beats as his annoyance unraveled into curiosity. She laughed at some exchange on her phone, and the velvety rasp spilling from her lips equated to a blast of NOx to his senses. Gracefully she pivoted, peering upward, and stretched her hand above her head.

He sucked in a lungful of cold air at the sight burned into his eyeballs of her jaw-dropping curves. A rush of adrenaline fired across his nerve endings and just about short-circuited his brain.

"Sweet surrender," he murmured, surprised by the rush of blood heating and heading way, way down south. It had been a long while since he felt this type of charge. Months in fact since he'd considered a rough ride in the sack, but something about this filly's exotic features and arching body tore into him—a key in a carnal lock unleashing a sensual message that spoke to his every male instinct.

The woman wore black boots and a tight, slim skirt drawing his attention to her perfect ass. She had not yet turned but he had a strong inkling that she'd be just what the doctor ordered to get over his slump in the saddle if he did more than ogle her round, bouncing breasts barely contained by her tight sweater.

She stopped talking on her cell and went beyond gazing upward at the building to snapping several photographs with her phone, unaware of him watching. He decided they might be in a position to help each other, if she was interested in getting the goods on a club that delivered more than a few flavors of kink.

"Excuse me," he called to her, fascinated to find out who she was and why she was intrigued with the exterior of Spurs and Leather. Sure, the club sat in a historic building on the edge of Paris, but chipping stucco and aged brick weren't that interesting. Not when he could offer her a preview of the club's interior.

She spun toward the sound of his voice, and in no way was he prepared for the hotshot impact of her captivating dark eyes. For an instant their gazes connected, sending his desire into overdrive. Instead of a provocative smile as he was accustomed to receiving from the women who frequented his club, this little filly remained pensively poised as though considering her options.

"Are you a reporter?" he asked, uncertain if it even mattered at this point.

"No." She said quietly. She stared back at him, drawing her arms in front of her body and giving off a vibe of being startled. His Dom curiosity was more than pricked by her submissive posture.

"Would you like to see inside?" Using one hand, he motioned to the back door while removing his sunglasses with the other, and started walking toward her. "The place used to be part of a large rectory."

"Uh…I was just admiring the architecture." As she spoke, she slid one booted foot backward. Her dark eyes widened, shifting nervously around the parking lot, and the cords in his neck tightened. Jesus, it was early afternoon in the city, but she reacted like his invitation included riding bareback on a bucking bronco. _Well, shit…maybe it did._

He clenched his jaw, recognizing this hot pepper's skittish moves. Something akin to a filly feeling trapped. He didn't try to stall her as she backed away, her body tense and ready to bolt at his slightest move. Instinctively, he slowed his pace and whispered words, or rather, low, husky sounds designed to soothe her and keep her from turning tail.

Flinching, she tugged on the dark red cap on her head. He couldn't get a fix on her, other than an urge to stop her from leaving. His long-dormant desire for female company awoke hungry. Moreover, watching this little lady backtrack…well damn, his hunger spiked.

It had been a stretch since any type of desire, other than getting through the day, did more than tempt him. The only jagged craving he got when taming fillies back on the ranch was a reminder to temper his recklessness. A wrong move equated to a kick in the head, yet in a flash, he understood this woman presented risk of another shade. Still, being near her ignited a sharp craving for skin-on-skin that roared to life in his core, impossible to ignore. A craving he realized had been sleeping for far too long.

Only ten feet separated them, and the closer he got, the more alluring she appeared. "The inside has some interesting features as well. Would you like a drink or a cup of coffee?" Damn, what else could he offer her that didn't sound like a blatant invitation to his bedroom?

"That's alright." She shook her head and bit her lip. "I have to run."

A white sports car halted in front of him. "Dammit," he growled under his breath. "Hey, wait up!"

He made his move to head around the car and fuck, the driver stepped on the gas and pulled forward, stopping him in his tracks. Didn't matter. Lifting his head, Christian watched over the roof as the mysterious woman almost sprinted toward her own car, climbed in, and started the engine. Her rear bumper had a few stickers, mostly from the University of Texas.

Was she some type of sorority girl, looking for a way to spice up a party? Wouldn't be the first time a bunch of college students had wanted to storm the club; she'd be sorely disappointed to find that the Spurs and Leather didn't offer off-the-cuff parties, even to strikingly exotic women with a body that just wouldn't quit. Too soon the brakes flashed and temptation in female form drove away, leaving him with the distinct impression that breaking a few rules was seriously overdue.

Shaking his head, he scowled at the car in front of him. The driver's window smoothly lowered and he clenched his jaw in vexation at the interruption. Sunglasses tilted in tandem, twin blonde heads nodded to him, both women licked their lips, and he suspected there was no time like the present to back the hell away from this type of nonsense: the Jamison twins in all their glory, and what a mess.

"Hey, sugar," one of them called. "We're gonna see you later."

A round of giggles and then the other one hollered, "Or you could let us in for a sneak peek."

"What is it about bothering me that you enjoy so much?" He snapped and regarded the two pairs of cornflower blue eyes and the grinning mouths of Esme and Selma Jamison warily, then he frowned.

"Come on, Christian. Don't be like that." The one in the passenger seat shook her head. "Please. Just give us a second."

They looked so much alike he couldn't tell them apart, not that he was interested. The farther he could stay away from these two, the better, and even more so after they'd offered to screw him every which way, both separately and together. They'd gone so far as to describe in detail what they wanted to do with him, even when he gave them an ultimatum to stop or he'd talk to their father. Then when he thought they'd moved on to another unsuspecting target, they'd gotten his cellphone number, _sexting_ him until he had their numbers blocked.

"I'm busy," he said between gritted teeth, and looked away as whichever Jamison sister seated behind the wheel started to lift her skirt.

Christian backed away from the car, the muscles along his neck pulled taut, and he pushed his hat up off his brow. Even in the fast-falling snow, he felt his face heat. These girls were way out of control and had been on his tail back in Annona for a couple of years now. Somehow, they'd found out about Spurs & Leather being his club. He didn't know how much they knew, and so far, he'd refused to discuss the club with girls not much older than his younger sister.

"Don't you have church?" he snarled.

"Done hours ago. We attend the sunrise service. You ought to come by someday. We'd love to show you the chapel. Up close and personal."

They were the proverbial preacher's daughters, and without a mother figure, they'd torn up their hometown, hitting the local waterholes in Annona when they were barely out of high school and now, it seemed, had graduated to a larger city and much racier establishments. These two women were all grades of off-the-chart trouble. Two times the temptation for most men, but not him. Overindulged chicks didn't interest him. He sought real life encounters with full-bodied lovers, nothing short of hot blooded women who wanted to take what he had to give.

"Girls." He tipped his hat. "Gotta run."

"We're not fibbing, Christian. We'll be back. See you later. All of you."

He couldn't imagine what they meant, or the part about_ seeing him later_. Not likely. With bouncers on the club doors, only members were admitted, and those two were a no-go when it came to gaining entrance to any club he owned. But there wasn't much logic in pressing that point. They'd just beg louder than normal, and he already had a ton of work waiting for him inside the club.

"Enjoy the day." He walked around the front of the low-lying roadster and didn't turn when they honked the horn before peeling out of the parking lot.

It was barely two in the afternoon and hours before his clientele showed up. Hours or not, he still needed to get the club set up and ready to roll during his stint from Sunday to Tuesday. The S & L—short for Spurs & Leather—was a private establishment he owned and ran besides his work back on the ranch. Scaling the back steps, he pressed his lips together from the burn scalding the muscles along his back and running down his upper arm. His thoughts returned to Evermore and the stallion he'd worked with all week. _Rebellion_. A blue roan specially bred for racing and jumping as well as testing his patience. Christian sported a sore shoulder due to the tumble from the saddle he'd taken on account of that stubborn horse from hell.

His phone buzzed with a message. Under the overhang and out of the falling snow, he checked his cell. A message from his partner, Phil Penrose. **Special member coming in tonight. I'll be there to explain.**

He shot back. **Cocksucker, new members we don't need. **

It was true. They had a waitlist for membership to the S & L from the crowd around Paris and beyond. Requests came from all over Texas, and had started to appear in weekly emails from as far away as D.C. and New York. Well, from the submissive crowd at least. He refused to accept more business than they could handle. The club was maxed in nightly room requests and he'd given the staff strict instructions not to book a party without his or Penrose's okay. He understood all too well that keeping up with the demands without another full-time Dom prevented them from accepting more members. Only a few new members had gotten in over the last three months when he'd unofficially stepped down from offering his services, and only because his partner had a soft spot for a pretty face. The club could hire another Dom and he'd toyed with the idea, but where to put the man? And who would oversee him? More questions, more demands, and he needed more time to sort it all out.

Unlocking the rear door, he paused to shake the snow from his sheepskin coat and stomp his feet before stepping into the back hall.

His phone buzzed again. **Worth the work. Might get you to reconsider your hiatus****.**

He shot back, **Shit. This better not be double trouble, as in blondes…or twins.**

His partner went mute. The muscles over Christian's shoulders knotted with that strange apprehension he got around a horse about to kick him in the gut if he wasn't careful. It boiled down to gut instinct. That's how he trained horses and ran this club. But at this moment, he lacked time to think about anything besides a mountain of bookkeeping. This irritating instinct would just have to wait until later. Grimacing, he wasn't about to buy into problems that had yet to materialize, not with enough to keep him busy right here and right now.

Shoving his phone into his pocket, he walked out into the main section of the club, completely dark without the lamps on overhead. Most of the lower level windows were sealed shut and painted black. When he claimed his club was private, that's just what he meant. He moved through the space from memory, down from the front doors and into the bar area, skirting around tables and chairs arranged in the middle, and crossed around the back of the long bar. He flipped on the stereo and the under-the-counter lighting, then lifted a bag of coffee and poured grounds into the filter basket of the machine. While the coffee brewed, he checked out the main floor, turning on the hallway lights and inspecting the rooms. Everything looked ready for their busiest night. Sunday was Friday around here.

He returned to the main bar, leaned against the counter and surveyed the bar area in the dim light. Gleaming mahogany paneled walls lined the place, and the splash of crimson from the glass fixtures, along with refurbished wooden floors and all new furniture, amped up the usual level of décor for a bondage club. He'd sunk more than a few pretty pennies into the place since last year. The entire downstairs had been redone to function as a main bar, surrounded by private rooms on the perimeter where members could _meet_. The rooms were housed within three select hallways, each hall with a single theme. To the south: the typical S & M dungeon rooms. Another hall contained semi-private rooms complete with viewing windows. The last corridor was strictly private, housing one large, well-stocked suite within the long hall and offered a private entrance. His domain and as the head house Dom, it was his prerogative to decide who entered. He hadn't serviced a sub in months and no one, not even his partner, had the key to that room.

Grabbing a cup of coffee, he trounced up the back stairs toward his office. Almost thirty years old and after working for more than ten years on his family's ranch, he'd learned a thing or two about running a profitable business but preferred to stay in the field, working with horses and cattle, when it came to ranching. He left the paperwork to his brothers Matt and Miller, not that he didn't understand how to balance the books; he just preferred anything that required sitting to be done as infrequently as possible.

Today he had an appointment with his digital ledger, having pushed dealing with the routine bookkeeping to the last weekend of the month. He opened the door to his makeshift office just down from his lonely apartment and glared at the offending computer.

"Now or never," he muttered, thinking about untangling red from black as he shrugged out of his coat.

For the last six months straight, he came up from Annona to Paris, staying at the apartment above the club and working from Sunday to Tuesday morning before he headed back to Evermore. Not easy, but he'd established the S & L as high class. There were strict rules on what was tolerated in the club, and no one stepped out of bounds, except on his authorization. He was acquainted with enough rule-breaking badasses beginning with his brothers back home.

Christian settled down in his wooden swivel chair, the feeling of being seated behind a desk foreign to him, and sorted through the pile of paperwork. The club was open Thursday to Tuesday and Penrose took over for the days when Christian was back in Annona. Pen dealt with the ordering and inventory, as long as he agreed to do the books. He picked up a note scratched out by Pen and narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher the man's hieroglyphic handwriting. Something about the payroll. His attention snagged on a crimson costume hanging behind the door and he closed his eyes for a moment.

God, how long had it been since he'd seen Val? He'd gotten past their harsh and hasty break-up, along with her quitting her job at the club, by diving into his work. He was well past wondering what she was up to in Austin. He bit the end of his thumb, tamping down the sting of her laughter when she'd admitted to faking her way through playing the part of a sub, and that their relationship had been a complete farce.

Shit, it was the humiliation he still had trouble dealing with. The same struggle he battled each time he caught sight of the red leather sub dress with metal rivets and chains. She'd sent an email months ago, saying that she'd forgotten the dress and to hold onto it, stating that someone would be by to pick it up. He'd like nothing more than setting a torch gun to it, and never ever see another red dress again.

Opening his eyes, he gritted his teeth, and scratched the side of his face, dragging his fingers over the stubble along his jaw, and shook his head. Christ books weren't going to do themselves, and that meant he had to get his ass in gear. Buckling down, he opened and organized the bills into stacks and got his head into figuring out if they'd turn a profit this month. It would have been easy to hire a bookkeeper for a routine business. Yet given some of their vendors included a retailer of satin sheets, a supplier of erotic lingerie for their club store, as well an online outlet that stocked the sexual paraphernalia required of the usual sex club, he wasn't keen on more loose talk his club.

Members were screened and signed contracts, including an ironclad confidentiality agreement. Guests were admitted only after completing a temporary admission form. What went down at the S & L didn't leave, not without threat of a lawsuit. Close-knit and closemouthed is how he and Pen ran this place. Except if he didn't get the bills paid, they'd run out of clean sheets and towels.

Hours later, the sound of music and laughter from downstairs reminded him that the club had opened. He'd untangled the club finances. A neat stack of checks written to cover vendors, and his bank account wasn't suffering. He might not be rolling in dough but he was well into the black. He sat back with a satisfied grunt and stretched, unfurling his long legs and letting each boot come down with a loud thud against the floor to the side of the desk. Staring out the window at the sunset skies, he contemplated throwing back a shot of Jack. A knock sounded at his office door, a sure sign things were heating up.

"Yeah?" he called out, pushing out of the chair and going to open the door.

"Got yourself sorted out?" Sam, the head bartender, leaned against the doorway.

"Finally. What's up?" Christian asked. Tonight he felt in a surly mood and those types of nights never ended well.

"Need your attention downstairs, on the double." Sundays were never easy around here and Sam, who normally wore a shit-eating grin, stood there and frowned.

"What happened?" he barked.

"Naw. This problem you'd better see for yourself." Sam uncrossed his arms and made to leave.

Oh, fuck. That wasn't good. Christian growled, "Don't be such a pussy."

"Dude, say what you will. I have seen you in action and this ain't one of those go and shoot the messenger kinda deals. I did my part by coming and getting you."

"Holy shit. Then who the hell is at the root of this _issue_?" He carefully skirted around authenticating an _issue_ as a true problem. Without laying eyes on a situation—any situation—he'd learned early on, defining things had a tendency to make them real and never real in a good way. Cattle were livestock, not pets. Connections were acquaintances, not friends. And absolutely, lays were women, not girlfriends. On the last one, he'd been burned and would never in the future make the messed up mistake of confusing the two terms, especially when it came to leather-dress-wearing women.

"Marty." Only now did Sam let a wide grin overtake his face. _Jackass_. "And no, he's not working the door or the bar or the floor or security. This is a membership problem."

"Issue!" Christian pushed his Stetson back on his head and inhaled. "A membership _issue_. You got that?"

"Yeah. Issue. I also _got_ to get back to bar. We're busy tonight."

"Fine. See you down there." Christian sucked in a retort about dusting liquor bottles as payback but that was Pen's domain. That shot of Jack sounded better and better.

What the hell? After all, this was his TGIF. He walked back to his desk, yanked open his bottom drawer and grabbed the bottle by the neck. He uncapped it and poured a liberal finger or two into his empty coffee mug. He drained the shot of whiskey and replaced the bottle inside his drawer. Setting his hat firmly on his head, at an angle that made it difficult for anyone to see the direction of his eyes, he left his office, slamming the door.

He tramped down the stairs looking for Marty, a thirty-something injured bull-riding-rodeo-king. Marty had settled a huge lawsuit against an arena and had needed something to do to fill his time. He wasn't a loud talker. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes open, and knew how to size up everything, from large animals down to fast-talking women. The man was dead-on when it came to red flagging potential membership applicants. Marty had been head of membership since the place opened, and Sam was right. He'd never veered away from the regulations and never once needed help in revoking membership. Not once had Marty ever needed to see him in a hurry.

There were only a few S & L rules and each was black and white. No one could fake not remembering, they were so goddam simple to memorize. The membership rule amounted to one. Only he or Pen granted membership. Anyone who broke a club rule was shown the door and his or her membership cancelled. Three goddam club rules, starting with put your hands on another member without permission and you're done. No guns, knives, or weapons of any sort on the premises. Keep your mouth shut about member's names and activities that occur within the club. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Up ahead he met Marty's wide eyes. He waved Christian over, but instead of staying put Marty limped across the bar to meet him. "Over here," he said and got his cane tangled up in one of the chairs. "Hold on."

"What's got you going?" Christian scanned the bar area. Nothing unusual. The tables were filled, the bar was busier than a hornet's nest, and the staff along the halls were taking reservations and handing out keys. Regular Sunday night buzz, plus Marty sweating.

They entered the membership office and Christian stopped short. "Excuse me. May I help you?" His eyes widened when the two blond heads turned around to face him. Mirror images. Identical. Esme and Selma. His nightmare come to life.

"We're back," one of the girls said, smiling.

He turned to look at Marty and grimaced. "What are they doing here?" he asked in a voice deadly low.

Marty flapped his hands. "Not my doing. Pen's idea."

"Christian! We need your help," one twin exclaimed while the other poked Marty in the ribs.

"Stop that." His manager swung his arms. "Keep your hands to yourself. Do you understand me?"

"We didn't mean anything by it," one girl said, and pouted.

Shit, this better not have anything to do with Pen's earlier text. Christian exhaled and said, "What can I do you girls for?" He meant nothing by it but Marty choked.

"See? We told you he was okay with us being here. Tell him, Christian." The twins took two hurried steps toward him.

"No. That's not what I said." He pushed his hands out in front of him as though he was stopping a charging bull.

"I knew it," Marty said. "You both lied, wasting my time, and now Christian's."

"What?" The twins shrieked and Christian clenched his jaw.

"Stop screaming," Marty said. "Or I'll throw you out myself."

"Why would you do that, Mr. Keller?" Both girls' eyes were wide and their chins quivered. "We haven't done a thing."

Christian almost felt sorry for the girls—for a second. "Let's all calm down. This is getting out of control." He'd broken untamed horses during the week and they weren't near as much trouble as these spoiled girls.

"Really? So we're on for tonight. Take a picture of us, Mr. Keller." One of them tossed her cellphone across to Marty, and then they both came at him. A cloud of floral perfume assaulted Christian's nostrils as he was flanked by the twins.

"Girls," Marty snapped and then tripped, landing in one of the office chairs. He sputtered, "Let Mr. Grey go."

"Oh," one of them uttered. Even this close, he still didn't know them well enough to tell them apart. The same twin said, "Can't take pictures. Right?"

"We forgot about the confidence promise," the other twin said with an all-knowing wink.

Christian's neck tightened. "That's _confidentiality,_ and I don't think we've gotten that far yet," he replied, catching his manager's expression of alarm. "You're not members here."

Marty silently got up and took one step, then another, to stand in back of the girls. Furiously, he swung his head then stopped when one of the girls glanced over her shoulder.

That same girl announced, "We're here for our night."

"Night?" Christian echoed, his brain unwilling to attach that lone word to any sort of information he might imagine about his club in relation to these two. His manager's cutting motion across his throat had him backtracking. Universal hand signal for shut the fuck up. "You're not spending the night here."

The thought tore at him that two girls who were friends with his sister could be standing in his club. He'd taken precautions to foil ever having friends, family, and acquaintances show up unexpectedly. What happened to the rule that no one got in except by his permission, or Pen's?

"How'd you get in here?" Christian sharply barked the question he should have asked when he first saw them standing down here. He pressed his fingers against the surface of the desk.

"Right here. Two club passes. Signed by Mr. Penrose."

Christian was certain his head was going to split open at the sight of Pen's chicken scratch handwriting. He picked up the cards and knew he was about to hear some serious screaming. "The two of you need to leave. This isn't the place for you."

"What do you mean? Our money ain't good enough for you?" Both girls stood shoulder to shoulder directly in front of him, hands on hips, their eyes narrowed in disbelief.

As Christian's mind spun, he heard the front door open and the sound of guests entering drew his attention. A man and woman passed by the open doorway and he nodded to them.

"Marty— " He was about tell his manager to drive the twins home when a red dress snared his attention.

The dress clung to the lush curves of a woman with hair so black it was blue, and flashing dark almond eyes set in an enticing face that turned toward him as though sensing his captivation. The woman was familiar and he wracked his memory as to where… fuck, _when_?

She regarded him with a defiantly fixed stare, as though it were some challenge to see who would look away first. Well, it sure wasn't going to be him. Their gazes locked and he felt a mixture of lust and excitement rocket up his spine. She arched a brow, right before she turned her face away, and continued past the doorway, presumably into the bar. His pulse jumped at the brief connection and his eyes widened, wondering who she was and why the hell she was wearing red, of all colors.

Christian rubbed the back of his neck and returned his attention to the headache in front of the desk. "Don't be ridiculous. But there's an application even for passes and as far as I recall neither of you filled one out. This isn't personal, it's the rules." He'd throttle Pen the next time he saw his partner. Meanwhile, he stared at twins, assuming the look of a serious prick, and went on, "Marty will drive you home if you need a ride. Esme. Selma. No rule gets bent around here. Anyone who tries is shown the door. No. Exceptions."

Both girls clamped their mouths shut. They exchanged glances, frowning, and he jerked his chin to Marty. "Take over. Girls, don't push your luck."

"But—" one of them said.

Marty smiled. "You arguing?"

"No, sir." The girls swung their heads as their shoulders slumped, and he half-watched them being escorted to the front door.

Christian turned and followed the corridor leading to the main lounge, scanning the room for an hourglass figure in red leather. There she was, walking up to the bar, then carefully sliding onto a bar stool with catlike grace. Her formfitting dress hugged her shapely ass, resembling a curvaceous upside-down heart just waiting to be explored.

Damn, staring at her ass was some sort of warped déjà vu and his cock twitched at the thought of wickedly bending her over and pinkening her ass cheeks, then withholding from her as he made her suck on him. He watched her swivel around and their gazes clashed across the room. The skin over his body tightened and his blood heated. Christ, this definitely wasn't the first time he'd traded scorching stares with her. He had not been this turned on in a long time…except earlier.

_Wait, was she that same woman?_

If so, she'd hidden her lustrous hair under a cap when they'd first met. Jesus, he was sure she was that girl, the one that got away. Only now, she was made-up and wearing tight, killer clothing.

If Miss Red Dress only knew the temptation she presented to a man with his type of appetite. First teasing him and running, and now returning…to do what? The services he could offer her were innumerable, considering she was sitting in a sex club. All of sudden, he couldn't imagine her with anyone besides himself. Especially when she stared back at him like she was ready to draw a line in the sand. He clenched his jaw, imagining all sorts of erotic pleasures he might find with her—if she was as much action as sizzling gazes.

The couple she'd followed had taken a table off to the side. So, Miss Red Dress wasn't here as part of a ménage. Christian crossed his arms over his chest. She didn't look like the average Paris submissive. She sat upright, alert as though she sensed his furtive craving—a tigress on a hunt but somehow he kept getting mixed messages.

Obviously, she was here for action, yet more and more she gave him the impression she was inexperienced in this type of setting. If anything, she appeared ready to flee again, and the thought had him flexing in muscles as though preparing for a chase. Crossing her long, tanned legs, his little temptress demurely pulled the hem of her tiny dress down. A damn shame she was trying to stop the slide of red leather up her legs.

His gaze traced a scalding path up and down her body. Mother Mary, the wild things that infiltrated his mind. Maybe all she needed was a man to command her, telling her when to move and how far. A razor-sharp rush buzzed over the surface of body. His muscles contracted and he felt himself come alive.

He was hungry, and tonight the menu called for an expanse of golden thighs—parted and trembling, waiting on his instruction.

**Chapter Two**

Anastacia fought to appear calm, perched on the bar stool in a dress the size of a rubber band and her muscles strung tight. She slid the glass of water closer to the edge of the bar, rather than risk picking it up, and dumping it into her lap.

"Thanks so much," she said to the bartender.

"No problem. I'll be back with your drink," he replied in turn.

Sure enough, her hand trembled as she lifted the glass to take a sip of water. She sucked in a piece of ice and almost choked, but she couldn't just spit the cube back into the glass. That would be rich and what a great impression to make on the people on either side of her. _Anastacia, get it together!_

If only she could ignore her heart kicking against her ribs. Suddenly, the idea of pulling off this farce felt like a hundred different kinds of crazy. She set her glass down, careful not to tip the darn thing, and really cause a scene.

_Concentrate on observing others_, she ordered herself, attempting to focus on something other than mentally revisiting the kerfuffle of when she'd walked by the outer office and glanced in. Never in a million years had she expected to meet the blistering stare of a man who'd undressed her with a single glance. That man should come with a warning label: seriously hot stuff. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and devilish.

And of course, she'd refused to be the first one to look away. Oh, no…she just had to go and stare right back at the handsome hunk. That smart move had knocked the breath out of her and demolished all her self-talk about being able to handle whatever a sex club had to offer. One face-off with a sexy man and she was ready to chuck her project.

Her head snapped up. Oh. Hell. No! Except, well…clearly, she had not envisioned that Spurs and Leather included the devil wearing jeans, a Stetson, and cowboy boots.

Anastacia's stomach twisted into a slew of knots. He'd better not be the man who Phil Penrose, one of the owners of the club, had said would give her a tour of the place—she'd never last two minutes. She should have known this would happen. She'd already seen him earlier in the parking lot, wearing a sheepskin coat and Ray-Bans, when he'd caught her snooping around outside. In that brief exchange, she'd already gotten a whiff of his incredible animal magnetism piercing her to the core with the promise of something darkly delicious...dangerous. And not going to happen!

Only narrowly, she'd escaped being scared out of her mind by a lucky break departure before he could approach her and demand to know her business. Mr. Penrose had assured her that no one would know she was here conducting research except his partner. People had a tendency to clam up or posture when informed they were being watched…or studied. She needed her subjects to be relaxed. Otherwise, what would be the point?

Sitting at the bar, she crunched on the piece of ice, tracing a spiral pattern over the wood grain with her fingertip. All right, time to take action. So far, she hadn't done a thing wrong, and all she really had to do was stay clear of the sizzling man with careening mojo. _No caving in allowed!_

Dang, the hardest part was over, in receiving the official go-ahead for her project. Jeez, it had taken all her courage to approach Mr. Penrose last week and present her request. Good God, she wasn't there to join in the sex at the S & L, she only wanted to observe the happenings in the main bar area and conduct onsite interviews. She'd spent enough time in the parking lot, gathering the confidence to walk into a sex club.

She'd googled the club but there was nothing online about the S & L. There were other sex clubs in and around Paris, but they were gaudy, disturbing, and too volatile for a woman to go it alone. From what she'd learned about those clubs, women were treated brutally by onlookers, and she'd refused to step foot in any of those places without an escort. When she'd tried to find another graduate student from her program to go with her, everyone said she was pushing the boundaries of research and to stick to case studies.

She wasn't the type to be satisfied with other people's research. If she wanted to offer therapy geared to address female sexuality issues especially sexual abuse survivors, she had to understand all the corners from where she might find future patients. She'd spent time in strip clubs and worked in a recovery group for women who were once prostitutes. This was her last research paper, and the project would serve as the basis of her thesis required for graduation. When she'd met with Mr. Penrose, she came away with the impression that the S & L wasn't about humiliating public displays with multiple partners. He explained that all club activity was carefully monitored. Strictly supervised. From what he'd explained, no one was allowed to get out of control.

She'd leapt at the chance and now here she sat, nervously glancing around the place. The main floor was beautifully decorated in subtle dark woods and vermillion accents. The music was low and seductive and the members were dressed, some in provocative outfits but nothing eye-popping. All she had to do was be patient and act as though she belonged. She knew the score. Eventually, she'd find a few people to talk to and then her first night would be over. She planned on coming back a few times a week for the next three months; by then, she should have enough research and information.

"Here you go, sugar." The bartender winked, setting her drink down. He was cute in that blonde-athletic-type of way and made smiling easier when her face felt frozen from a case of nerves.

"Thanks." She laid a twenty on the bar. "Do you know where the owner is?"

"Christian?" He jerked his chin. "Right over there."

She swung her glance over her shoulder. _Oh dear God!_ He was the same man who'd undressed her. Blistering stare and all.

His eyes were still burning and he stood there, arms akimbo, his dark eyes scorching a hole in her as though she didn't belong. No joke…with his experience he could spot a phony a mile away. Mr. Penrose warned her to keep her chin up.

Jesus H. Christ, Christian was crossing the floor, walking a beeline in her direction.

_Showtime!_ She doubted he'd openly discuss her research project. Therefore, she could try to smile politely and show him that she was on the up-and-up. This was serious business to her. Cue the countdown. 3-2-1. A few feet away, she absorbed the depth of his broodingly beautiful persona. He reminded her of an untamed stallion, the type that couldn't be broken.

"Hello," she said warmly, but with an efficient undertone, wanting to be the first to break the ice and possibly explain about her running off earlier but she fell oddly silent under his glare.

He arched a brow. His frown only deepened the nearer he came. She had no problem if he felt it was his duty to lay down the law, as long as he didn't get too close in his complete dissatisfaction. Mr. Penrose had repeatedly warned her. Christian Grey was more bark than bite. _More_, she mused, but not without, it seemed.

Standing to her side, he nodded. A muscle along his sculpted jaw twitched. "Evening. Didn't we meet earlier?"

She swallowed hard, trying to get her head together. "Sorry to dash off. I had an appointment."

He didn't look impressed as he shifted his glance around the bar. If anything he looked annoyed, like he might walk away, leaving her sitting there slack-jawed. Maybe he didn't think a woman should have a mind of her own. That idea had her stiffen. If he thought an educated woman was a waste of his precious time well so be it. He swung his attention back to her and the intensity in which his gaze consumed her was a force to reckon.

"I was wondering. Well, if you're not going to sprint out the door, maybe we can get through a simple introduction. You are…?" he asked. His words sounded courteous but the roiling fire in his eyes had yet to settle down.

Her skin roasted as he continued to stare back at her. More so when his dark eyes slid down her body.

_Oh really._ She inhaled rather than fire off a mouthy retort right off the bat. What the hell!

"Excuse me," she said politely, not about to let some man size her up. "My eyes are up here." He wasn't the first cowboy she'd had the pleasure to redirect. Back home on her father's ranch, she'd learned how to snap a guy out of his fascination with her boobs.

Christian snorted like one of the champion stallions her father bred. She'd ridden plenty growing up, and that included walking away after being thrown not once, but enough to recognize a beast about to buck. Up close, she recognized that besides white-hot flames in his singeing stare, he had ice. Just like all unbreakable stallions, it wasn't only the fire that ruled their blood, but simply a heart that refused to yield.

"Then answer me, or shall I give you a club name?" He leaned closer, taunting her. "One only we would share."

For a beat, she yearned to raise her hand and run her fingers along the edge of his jaw. Feel the scrape of his unshaven skin against hers, knowing he'd leave marks in more than one way. It had been too long since she'd done more than research human sexuality.

"Anastacia," she said in a low voice, already aware that only first names were permitted.

"Anastacia. Is that right?" he asked.

"Yes. After my grandmother."

"So that's your real name?" The corners of his lips relaxed and actually curved into a devilish smile. "Christian," he said, and held out a large, capable hand.

She sensed he was interested in her—maybe just needed to set the ground rules and he was testing her to see if she could take the heat. Mr. Penrose more than likely had shared that this was a big deal to have a university interested in his club. They could definitely help each other out.

"Nice to meet you," she grinned, more than happy to show him she wasn't scared in the least.

All full of herself, she took hold of his huge hand and squeezed. Then froze. Heat from his hand soaked into her palm, spreading outward in a seismic force across her body. Holy mother! Nothing compared with the sensation when his hand slid over her skin, tangling their fingers before he made her hand disappear within his. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm and landed deep in her belly.

"I don't think I remember seeing you inside the club before," he said, towering over her.

"My first time. Don't hold that against me." She tried to laugh but her mouth was drier than the Sahara.

"On the contrary," he exhaled with his husky voice.

"Glad to hear," she picked up her glass, dying for something to drink.

The set of his square jaw spoke defiance and the ability to command without question. The effect was another hard-to-ignore vibration over her skin and her breath caught when their gazes snapped together. Without thinking, she lifted her glass and swallowed the contents, nearly choking, and then remembered she'd ordered bourbon for a reason. She didn't drink straight liquor and wanted to nurse a drink all night. Her eyes watered and she blinked frantically, biting her lip rather than moan from the slow burn going down her throat.

"Never before? What about other clubs?" he asked, still holding her hand.

She swung her head from side to side and took a deep breath.

He uncurled his hand to release hers. "Are you okay?" he asked and gently smacked her on the back.

This dress was a size too small. Borrowed from her roommate and Anastacia's cleavage almost popped out the front with his thumping her on the shoulder. His eyes raked over her chest and she swore she could feel his heated gaze blister her skin. She chanced a glance down her front. _Oh. My. God!_ Her nipples were about to peek over the edge of the dress. She and Christian were only inches apart and he had to see the same thing as she did. She wanted to demand he look away, but instead watched his nostrils flare as he stepped in front of her.

"You sure about that?" He swung his glance to the front of her dress. "Darlin', you want some help with that dress of yours? Up or down?"

"No. I'm fine," she snapped, giving him the dirtiest look possible to keep his eyes trained on her face and not return to her cleavage as he'd just done. Again. As surreptitiously as possible, she pulled up on the straps of the gown before it crept down any further.

"Frankly, I don't think that's going to solve our problem," he said. "You might need a brick wall with steel-reinforced girders, not some flimsy piece of leather, for what I have in mind."

Now it was her turn to appear filled with annoyance. "You're really way too full of yourself. Did Mr. Pen—I mean Phil tell you about my membership?"

"My partner has a tendency to grant memberships unilaterally. Only this time I can't say I'd argue with him." He leaned over and motioned to the bartender. "Set this lady up again and pour the same for me."

He glanced back at her and she inhaled his fresh, outdoors scent. Good God, wearing nothing more than a tight black T-shirt, he looked like a Greek god. His sculpted arms stretched the armholes of his shirt. His corded neck supported a silver chain that dipped into his shirt, riding over the ripped and contouring muscles that made up his chest and back from what she could tell. She bit her lip, casting a glance at his narrow hips that ended in a tight bottom, the type that could flex and roll perfectly between a woman's legs. _Holy shit! Did I just imagine him naked?_

"You don't understand," she squeaked, her face burning from a guilty conscience. He didn't know that she was here to learn and if she didn't start acting like this was important, she'd be melting all over the barstool.

"I think I do." He straightened when the bartender set their glasses down on the bar.

Holy smokes, she bet Christian was the one assigned to give her a tour. Maybe he was just acting the part of flirtatious stud. She inhaled a shaky breath, chewing on the side of her mouth, deciding whether or not to come clean with him. There were other people on both sides of them now. Several women were giving Christian the once-over. If she told him, he might be less than enthralled, knowing she was only interested in research. He was a man here for a purpose. A Dom to be precise. Just thinking about him naked and commanding was hardly helping her ability to stay focused.

She already felt giddy sitting next to him as his forceful masculinity soaked her senses. If she engaged in another round of sweltering flirtation with him, the act was akin to playing with an uncontrollable fire. But then again, he was worth the ton of information she'd get from the inside as long as she didn't cross the line.

He held out her glass, staring into her eyes. "How about if I show you around the place? You said you have never been to a club before, and then you can decide." He said half smiling at her.

"Promise, just a tour. Nothing more." She needed to get hold of her runaway imagination. Not a thing about the bar appeared to be anything but a high-class dance club. The staff was professional and courteous. Although Christian was a horse of another color. So what if some people were dressed a tad risqué and there were private rooms with studs? If that's the name of this game, it wasn't off the charts. Nothing she'd risk losing her head over. She set the bourbon down and picked up her water glass. "I think I have had enough to drink."

He clinked her glass, the heat in his eyes ready to incinerate her from the inside out. "Cross my heart, Anastacia," he said in a rough murmur, shifting his powerful body, and lifting his glass.

**Chapter Three**

Touching Anastacia's golden skin, Christian swore it was like waking to brilliant sunlight from a long, black sleep. This fiery fascination was more than his thing for tight red dresses on curvy figures, and shapely long legs in higher-than-hell stilettos. This little firecracker had a way of bucking him, then simmering down, and drawing him in…close. Not that he couldn't resist, but when she smelled so incredible and looked tasty enough to lick from head to foot, what was the point of playing hard to get? He'd done that for months without having to try. Staring down at Anastacia's chest, with her tempting mounds threatening to spill over any second into his waiting palms, his dick throbbed, getting harder with each breath the little minx took. He imagined doing several scorching things with her, from the waist up. Fuck, if he got her naked, he'd make certain they both couldn't walk straight for a week.

"Cheers." She lifted her glass as well as her dark, liquid eyes, and he followed suit, the breath evaporating from his lungs.

Staring into those bottomless pools made the muscles all over his body contract. "Anastacia," he said, sampling her name on his tongue and rolling the sound around in his mouth.

"Christian," she whispered in an ultra-feminine voice that reached into his body, swam in his blood, and unleashed a hunger he'd kept tamped down for far too long. "Why do you keep saying my name?"

"It's beautiful. Anastacia. Ephemeral, but hard to forget," he said.

"Cowboy poet?" She laughed, throaty, sultry, and in a second his desire roared to life, ready to find fulfillment for them both. An able and ready woman was right in front of him. If only she'd agree to be more than gorgeous and prickly. To get her naked, she'd have to be willing. He bet under that get-up she was warm and wet, and with her spunk she'd have no problem taking him on in bed.

"Hardly. To a memorable evening," he said, taking a drink from his glass.

"I trust you to be a man of your word," she replied.

"There's nothing that will happen unless you give the word. So, if you trust yourself, then come with me." He held out his palm. "I won't bite."

She slanted her head toward him and inquired, "Where are you taking me?"

Her silky black hair caressed his arm. He watched it swish behind her, long and straight, and he had the urge to fist it with both hands as he controlled her, envisioning the first time he'd drive himself into her. She ran her tongue over her red mouth, moistening her full lips.

His cock jerked at the things he imagined doing to Anastacia. "Depends on what you're after." He pointed across the bar to the darkened entry and thought about what it would be like to open the door to his private room tonight. "That's a place we could go to be alone."

"Alone? With you?" She smiled, shaking her head. "No, I don't think so. Not my first time here."

"Can't punish a guy for trying." The red light at the entrance, signaling he was servicing a woman, hadn't been on in forever. He didn't know if he wanted to let the bar know he was fucking her. It was the house rule that members could watch the Dom-on-staff pleasure another member.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, and he realized that he was gripping his glass, white-knuckled tight. Not even with Val did he hesitate to share his power-fucking ability. He even got off, knowing that others watched him drive a woman mad.

He didn't feel in a sharing mood with Anastacia. Possibly being out of the limelight and not on stage for months had him shifting in the saddle. The first time back in the sack as Dom, why shouldn't he want to do it in private? "Wondering if you're all talk or if you're as bold as you like to play?"

She arched a brow. "I'm not a tease, if that's what you're wondering."

"Tease or temptress. Darlin', you're a good deal of both; throw in a double shot of trouble and I think it describes you."

"Not to a 'T' I hope," she said and pointed out, "You're more than just a tightly controlled Dom. Aren't you?"

"Insofar as us, you can think of me in those terms. Make no mistake, it's how I intend on bringing you pleasure while at the same time getting myself off. All the way, Anastacia."

She tilted her head, coyly smiling at him while surveying the bar. "This is more show than actual seduction in the making. Dancing and drinking, flirting and some hot kissing. I don't see anything outrageous. A classy club playing up to people's desire to be a little bit bad. It's not any different than a theme-based costume party."

"And I bet a night here will have you hot, bothered and soaking wet even if we're surrounded by people." He spoke way too soon. At this rate he'd be the one hot, and very bothered. He drained his glass. A single shot and it went right to his head. He curled his fingers around her arm, helping her from the bar stool, and if he'd thought for an instant he'd gotten the full effect of this hellcat's dress, he now understood how sorely he'd been mistaken.

This close, he tried to swallow as his eyes bulged. He went to set his glass on the bar and missed, barely paying attention to the glass crashing to the floor. His gaze roamed down her curves, but it was impossible to take in how beautiful she was all at once. Starting with her tiny waist, which he was sure would be perfect between his hands. Add her exotic face and her long legs, or how sexy her shoes were…the list went on. And on.

"You're not nervous. Are you?" she softly laughed.

"Naw. What gave you that impression?" He played it off. Badly. She called him on the carpet and nailed him, causing ripples of heat to hike up his spine.

He'd worked with plenty of untamed fillies before, and knew damn well when he had a spitfire on his hands. Anastacia wasn't all sass and wasn't all soft. A little bit sweet with a dose of prickling spice woven together in just the right way to irritate him one moment and have him hungering to lay her down and spread those luscious thighs the next.

He couldn't settle on whether Anastacia was a top or a bottom; possibly a switch, from the way she played hot and cold. He hadn't screwed a woman who commanded him in a long, long while. His needs ran to running the show and taking care of the woman in his bed. Not that he'd opted out of sampling a controlling lover; it just didn't suit him, and he'd learned early on he was a top all the way. Not a switch and not a bottom.

That's why he'd opened this place. None of the women from his past could handle his hunger to roughly spank a bottom in order to squelch a runaway mouth. Nor did they understand that kink involved more than a need to discipline a woman. The satisfaction he derived from providing for his lover's pleasure using domination was forged into his sexual make-up. He'd felt all his relationships were missing something until he'd visited Austin and some highfalutin' private clubs, and discovered what it meant to be a force of control within the bedroom. Completely. And that's what he did until Val up and left.

Yet being an unequivocal top didn't prevent him from feeling and he'd been open with Val in a vulnerable, honest way. More than he'd ever been with any other woman sharing his lifestyle and when she'd thrown it back into his face that she'd faked liking the things he'd done to her, he'd needed to step away for a while. Afterwards, he felt a door close. Figuratively and literally. The room at the end of the hall had remained off-limits.

Pen hadn't questioned him, even when it meant a cut in revenue, until a few weeks back. Then his partner had suggested they hire a full-time Dom, and that Christian step down. They could open _the room_ again, a big draw for the members, yet he couldn't contemplate another man using his space. It had been his place when he'd made the leap to stop subduing this side of himself. As the club's head Dom, he'd crafted a name for himself in which he selected the women he bedded. Sometimes it had been with Val, in bed or watching at the window. Or not. He had his share of threesomes with women and using all sorts of bondage scenarios.

He'd thought he had finally found a woman to be with, in a way that wasn't ordinary. Yeah, it was different, but so was he. The fact that Val had pretended to accept him tore at him when it was all a lie. One huge lie. On the way out the door, Val had kissed him and said not to make a big thing about it. It had been about the money, and to her it was nothing more than a job. She'd said it was her performance of a lifetime to have convinced a Dom like him, and she could make it big in a larger city. Men were men, she'd laughed. As far as he'd heard she'd gone to Austin, but hell, she could be in Vegas for all he knew or cared.

Now he wasn't certain about what he needed or wanted, except this woman beside him. Anastacia. Not forever, but one night. He inhaled at the thought of her open to him.

"I want to see the whole place. Do you think that's possible?" Anastacia asked, lifting a suggestive shoulder that made her dreamy tits press together.

"Just tell me what you like." He had to remind himself that they'd just met and he wasn't about to lose his head. That plan sounded just dandy as long as he didn't let his gaze linger too long on her mouth, and how she had him grinding his teeth.

Oh who the fuck cared if they'd just met or not? His dick, for one, could not care less about timelines. All he wanted to do was get rid of his clothes, her clothes, and thrust balls-deep until they both were sated first, exhausted second.

Anastacia sucked her lower lip in thought. "What's over there?" She pointed to the busier of the halls. The one with the viewing windows. "There's a lot of hustle and bustle going on. I'd like to go where the action is."

She bit her rose-colored lip, looking up at him in a way that had her dark eyes wide and soft. The way he'd enjoy looking down at Anastacia, once her full lips were wrapped around the head of his cock. Damn, he envisioned making her swallow him, then he'd bend her over the bed and take his time exploring her. Maybe put a blindfold on her to reduce her nervousness and snappy remarks, tie her wrists and ankles to the bedposts while he got her off to the point of calling his name. Or better yet, screaming his name.

His fingers held her elbow, and he tugged her just a little to see if she'd come to him. The feel of her soft body grazing against his side made him suck in a rapid breath.

"Do you like watching other people?" he asked, his cheek skimming over her face, careful not to rub his beard stubble across her satin skin. He heard her intake of surprise and waited for her reply, his body tensing.

"As in having sex?" The quiver in her voice was response enough to tell him the answers he sought. She'd leaned in closer and he didn't have to do more to verify that the subject provoked a rise out of her. All he needed was a couple of minutes with her in front of the viewing windows and he'd know if she was ready for what he had in store.

"Consenting adults, and they know they're being watched. They enjoy that aspect."

"I think I'd like to see…maybe one room for starters."

He led the way, excitement thrumming in his veins. He stopped at the check-in desk and signed her name as a voyeur. Several people came out from behind the closed doorway at the beginning of the hall. The members passed by the desk, nodding to him, and he felt Anastacia tug on his wrist. He stopped his cursory appraisal of the action in the rooms. Based on the computer log, nothing listed was seriously over the top. He swung around and cocked his head. If she was going to bolt, now would be the time.

"Second thoughts?" he asked.

"No." Her brows were drawn together. "Those people were wearing masks and cloaks."

He pressed his lips together, trying to gauge her curiosity. "You wondering why, or do you want to hide your identity?"

"I don't think a mask would help, considering this red dress makes it pretty obvious who I am after already sitting at the bar. And I didn't bring a cloak. But why do people wear them?" She jutted her chin toward the exiting members.

"Some of our members come here just for this hall. They leave by a private exit into waiting cars. They prefer to keep their identities a secret—others are naked underneath. We respect both. Most people who come to the bar area do so to dance and have fun. But did you look around? There are some in the booths who do prefer the cape and mask. No judgments."

"I didn't know. There's no information about this place online."

"Should I ask how you found out about us?" She pricked his curiosity, all right. S & L had a growing popularity, and even with the confidentiality agreement, he understood people talked and how fast word of mouth traveled in small circles. But who told Anastacia, he wondered.

"Does it matter?" she replied. "I haven't asked you about your history. I'd hate to think you were going all provincial on me."

"Baby, I'd like to do some pretty edgy things with you to prove that's the last thing you'd consider me. Just say the word. I come from a small town but I'm sophisticated in my bedroom abilities and likes. I hope you're the same way." He arched a brow, chucking the ball into her court.

"Hey, I never implied that you were unsophisticated." Flustered, she met his unblinking stare. "I don't know if that's any of your concern about me."

"Don't start spitting nails. I know you're trying to get a feel for all this. Let me have the pleasure of introducing you to your first time as a voyeur." If he wanted to be crude, he'd have mentioned he was about to pop her voyeur cherry, but at this point, he'd gotten the feeling that less talk would go further with Anastacia. She was nervous, and he'd been in the position of introducing curious women to this world enough times to be aware of how far and how fast to push.

He opened the door to the hallway, his feelings ambivalent about taking her inside. She was right beside him and nothing was going to happen to her. Then why the sudden braking in his attitude? For Pete's sake, he'd just boasted of being sophisticated.

"We'd better get inside," he said, taking in the color suffusing her beautiful face, both angel and temptress. "If you're sure?"

"Definitely. Yes."

"Then sugar, let's have at it."

Anastacia walked ahead of him, her dress reflecting the dim lighting. Within the halls at night, red lighting shone as the only source of illumination. The interior rooms were better lit with lamps; not much, but enough to make viewing from the windows possible.

"Oh. My," she gasped softly.

"Stop here," he said, guiding her by the upper arm, then directing her toward the back wall so that they could watch unimpeded. It wasn't just about the interior of the room. The audience was also part of this fantasy for members. "Do you see the man?" he asked Anastacia.

"Inside the room?" She nodded, staring over at the window.

"Yes. Do you like what he's doing with the woman?"

There was a man within the room who had a woman spread over his lap as he sat on a sofa. He paddled the woman, who had her wrists bound and wore a gag in her mouth. The man stopped and powered up a vibrator, inserting it into the woman's pussy. On this side of the window, there were people seated at tables and a few standing at the sides. It wasn't uncommon for people to have sex while watching and he wasn't sure if they'd see anyone until they stopped here. A man had his dick out and was getting jerked off by the woman seated to his side.

"What about the other action?" He was much more interested in her reaction to the members in the hall. "Over there. The guy getting a hand job. Do you see what the woman is doing to him?" The man's partner moved from her seat. She knelt in front of the man's lap and the bobbing of the woman's head was unmistakable.

"Christian." Anastacia's breathing quickened. He took a step and leaned against the back wall with her in front of him, relishing the tension of wanting her torqueing in his body and tempering the moment of when he'd take her. "Will she do more?" she asked, pressing her hip against his thigh, a couple of inches to the side of where he needed her.

"If they'd like. There aren't any restrictions on vanilla sex in the hall or the rooms. Do you like what you see so far?" he asked, his voice tight in his throat.

"Do you ever come here and watch when you're alone?"

"Only to monitor the activities, not as a spectator. But tonight, it is a turn-on with you." He forced himself to concentrate on the room and the inhabitants instead of the pair of delicious hips in front of his groin. He got the gist of the activities about to unfold at this window based on the players inside.

"Really. Doesn't watching get old after a while?" she asked in a strained voice.

"Does sex ever become routine?" He chuckled at her. God, she had no idea the bombs going off in his head, and all because of her. He didn't know if she was going to flee after what she'd just witnessed.

"Ready for another room?"

"Yes. Please." She curled her fingers around his arm, just above his elbow. He walked her to the second window where a larger crowd had formed. Two men were in the room with one woman.

"There are times when it isn't hetero stuff that goes down. You okay with that?" he asked, speaking low against her hair.

"This is the first time I have ever seen anything like this." She leaned into him with her shoulder, without turning her face, and finished with, "It's all fine."

Perfect choice of words. He pulled her toward the back again, and this time she stood on her tiptoes to see around the two sofas and various tables filled with observers. The men inside the room had the woman spread. One held her hair, making her suck his dick while she rode the other dude underneath. Soon enough he imagined one of the men would take her from behind.

Like clockwork, the man with his shaft being sucked, bent and picked up a bottle of lube.

"He's going to fuck her ass," Christian whispered the words against the side of Anastacia's face and she sucked in a small gasp. He pulled her to a clearing. "Watch what happens."

He stood to the side of Anastacia, contemplating her as she observed without obstruction the moment the man drove his cock into the waiting woman's ass. At first Anastacia's arms were tight against her body, then her lips parted and she dropped her arms. In the crimson light, he noticed a pulsing vein in her neck, wildly beating.

_Is this the type of play that got Anastacia off?_ He wondered if this tight-bodied woman enjoyed having her sweet ass manhandled. He looked back to the room and both men were slamming their shafts into their willing partner. That wasn't the excitement for him, though; it was watching Anastacia's rapt attention.

"A turn-on for some women," he offered, coming to stand directly behind her and more than tempted to draw her to him, hip-to-precious-hip.

She bit her lip, sucking the center into her mouth, and he groaned unable to hold back. He grazed his hands over Anastacia lush hips, squeezing...testing the feel of her body, then drawing her back to him. Holy—holy shit! He held his breath as his cock jerked from coming into contact with the plump curve of her ass.

"Oh, yeah," she whispered, leaning back against him and giving him a taste of sweet, exquisite torture. He closed his eyes, not paying attention to the room or the people in the hallway who were moaning and whispering instructions. Nothing mattered except the feel of Anastacia's ass teasing his cock. She ground herself against him and he sampled the edge of pure ecstasy.

"Baby," he murmured as she pressed her hands over his, threading their fingers. No way could he pretend he wasn't fully aroused. This close to her, he reached out and slid their joined hands along her hips.

"God, this feels so crazy." She swayed in front of him, first pressing one curve of her bottom into his groin, then swiping her other round cheek over his crotch. From side to aching side, Anastacia rocked her hips, rubbing across his erection.

"Anastacia," he murmured into her hair. "The things I could do for you. Just say the word." He hiked her hips upward a couple of inches to ride the tip of his cock. Right there! He envisioned taking his time in fucking her.

Pushing her ass against him, he lifted his hands to her tits, and she whimpered, "Please. You feel so good."

Her nipples grazed his fingertips. Any second he'd come in his pants if he didn't slow down. He swung her around so that she faced the wall. He blanketed her body, and she moved their hands down to the juncture where her thighs and hips met. Her dress was so damn tight he couldn't press his fingers between her thighs. From the way she arched and moaned, he was certain directly under his fingertips lay her slick flesh. He tugged at her dress, out of his mind with lust, and his intention wilder than he'd ever been. At that moment, he had to get inside her, and if it meant fucking her up against a wall in the hall, if she didn't care then neither did he.

"Well, looks who's come back to us." Penrose's soft twang rang out down the hall.

"Damn," Christian swore against the curve of Anastacia's neck.

He inhaled her fragrance for a second, wondering if he could haul her out through the emergency exit and into his truck. He unlaced one hand from hers, pulled up the front of her dress, and then placed his palm against the wall. Now in the spotlight, he allowed a fraction of an inch between their bodies. Not much, but enough to save her from having someone else get an eyeful of him grinding into her ass and for a much-needed second to catch his breath. His cock was so hard it rubbed painfully against the inside of his jeans. He inhaled a jagged breath and took a full step away from the soft, glowing heat of Anastacia's body.

His partner's footsteps crept closer and he pivoted in time to see Pen's shit-eating grin. "How's it going, partner?" Pen kept his voice down.

"I'm busy," he growled.

"Can see that. And who's this?" Pen said, his face drawn in a serious frown. "Wait a minute. Wait a cotton-picking minute. I recognize you!"

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Christian retorted, wondering if Pen had lost it.

"You turned the researcher into a member?" Pen asked in a low voice, finally mindful they were outside one of the rooms.

"Come again?" Christian snapped, then felt Anastacia stiffen against him.

"Christ, you're about to, Christian. Maybe I should have called the professionals months ago."

His whole body contracted from the strength of his urgent hunger to get inside Anastacia and finish what they'd started. At first, it seemed like his brain was on fire and he couldn't make sense of what his partner was jabbering about. "You're talking gibberish, Pen."

His partner crossed his arms and let go a low laugh. "Damn, man. It's about time you serviced somebody again. But I'd never imagined it would be her."

He had to shut Pen down, before his little spitfire turned tail and exited the hall and the building. Alone. He squeezed her fingers where their hands were still connected.

"Pen. Shut up." Shit, he could barely speak. Not good when his partner had a tendency to ramble on about a million things, and over the years he'd learned to nod and half-listen. Where he was taciturn, Pen was the male version of a Chatty Cathy doll. Unfortunately, his bigmouthed partner's piss-poor timing had decided to interrupt the one moment when he could barely comprehend words, let alone draw an unfettered breath.

Pen just laughed. "Hot damn!"

Christian labored to speak, with his tongue oddly thick in his mouth. He'd never been brought to this state before from a little dry-humping. He exhaled, forcing the few words he could string together out of his mouth. "Speak fucking English?"

"Don't you know?"

Christian scrubbed his hand across his jaw. "Apparently, not." He stared at Pen's face, studying his partner's furrowed brow, then glanced down to where the man's hands were shoved in his pockets.

The body language was all off for his jokester partner. "Hey, sweetheart. Didn't you tell him your business?" Pen asked, all traces of humor gone from his face.

"What business?" he snarled.

What the hell was all this about? Christian stepped farther from Anastacia as she pushed away from the wall, untangling their fingers.

"God." She groaned, then skittered more than a few inches, moving back as though she was on fire before she finally turned and stared at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes unblinking.

His overarching thought was to reach out to her and haul her body against his, then claim her mouth in the kind of kiss that would leave them hungry and breathless. She didn't say a word, just stood there, her chest heaving, and he wanted to find a cloak to cover her tits, as her cleavage was about to spill over—again.

He took a step toward her, unable to resist her magnetic pull. "Is he talking about you?"

"Yeah. I met with Mr. Penrose…last week." She held up her palms, her eyes wide, and shook her head. Her hair flowed over her shoulders, pure silk teasing him, and really only served as the most seductive frame to a pair of tits he'd ever witnessed.

"Talk to me," he whispered as though she were a spooked filly.

She stared at them, then bolted. He'd been ready all evening for this move and was right beside her, taking wide steps where she could only manage short ones given her tight dress and high heels. He reached out and took hold of her elbow. When she stopped at the end of the hall before the closed door, he put his hand around her thin bicep and gently pulled her back to him. She was a little slip of a thing and one tug was all it took to stop her.

"Let me go," she whispered, without much conviction.

"Whoa. Just stop a second. Mind explaining what Penrose was talking about? Researcher? What did he mean?"

**Chapter Four**

Christian's hot gaze swept downward from her face as though he were studying her or something. Was he actually watching her breathe? Whatever he was doing, his intense glare had her coming apart at the seams.

"Stop staring at me," she huffed.

Hell, maybe her ability to breathe did matter, considering she couldn't seem to inhale after what they'd done. She'd been pushed up against a wall, encircled by his muscular arms, his body tight to hers. Hands-down, Christian rubbing his cock over her ass was the best non-fucking sex she'd ever had. She'd actually widened her stance in anticipation of letting him fuck her…in public. The alarm bells buzzed inside her head as her heartbeat still double-timed in her chest standing next to him. _I have lost it_. Totally, totally lost it.

She felt like she'd stepped through the looking glass by entering this hallway. And at some point she'd sold her soul to the devil…no other way to explain her actions, or the fact that she'd do it again if she didn't get a grip. Even now, her bones felt liquid and the pulsing heat of mindboggling lust swam low in her belly in need of release. All she could think about was riding Christian. The way a wild stallion had to be ridden—wild, wanton, and hard.

"I want an answer," he demanded. The points on her arm where his fingers touched her tingled.

_God, he wasn't the only one._

It wasn't Christian's question that perturbed her; it was the roiling deep in her belly, the wild pulsations between her legs, and worse, her inability to resist this man. Damn. Damn. Double damn.

_So much for being a professional!_ He stared down at her and in the red light she noticed his eyes weren't brown, they were a deep blue that almost flashed violet in the hall lighting. _Not helping!_

But hell, if she could look away or stop him when he pulled her closer she might have a fighting chance to pull herself together. No such luck. Every cell in her body ached to let him do more than talk. How could she help other women overcome their fears if she was flying higher than a kite right now and threatening to crash and burn? She'd let Christian get to her, so much so that her body hummed and her bones melted. Her wobbly knees would have unhinged if he removed his hands from her. She inhaled a deep cleansing breath, and braced herself against the door.

"Christian," she exhaled, trying to gather her thoughts. Even now, knowing he was as dangerous as an addictive drug, she was ready to climb on top of him and finish what they'd started. She inhaled his scent, and a shiver skated up her spine.

"I'm not letting you go without an explanation," he growled, and she believed him. He had the power to command her. His words and body, his expressions, everything about him delivered her from rational thinking into the world of hot and wild and now.

_Doggone it!_ Standing next to him, she was a goner if she didn't reel in her out of control attraction to him. "Please."

"Anastacia, how much of what Pen said is true?" he asked her. A fair question, only she didn't have the answer.

Christian was a cool drink one moment, then he'd work her over good with his provocative skills, proving without a doubt he was the best looking specimen of tall, dark, and dangerous she'd ever let grind a massive hard-on against her ass.

Never had she met a man like Christian. He was all fire and promised nothing other than he'd fulfill her wildest fantasies. Things she'd kept bottled up for years, especially after her boyfriend, Charles "Beau" Humphrey, III—the one she'd expected to pop the question—had dropped the bomb that he'd proposed to his high school sweetheart. The sting was as piercing now as it was two years ago when Beau had calmly informed her that his wife was wearing white down the aisle, not bright red. God, had it really been two years since she'd seen him?

Back then, stupidly she'd stood there listening to Beau, at first unable to comprehend what he was driving at, until she demanded to know why his old girlfriend was going to be his wife—a woman he'd left and never loved_._

"_Love's got nothing to do with marrying. This is a lifetime contract and her family has connections," Beau had thrown back at her. "Honeybunch, you just aren't the marrying kind. You can't escape what you were meant for."_

_She'd accused him of not making sense and had stormed at Beau, letting her temper get the best of her, and wondering what had come over him and her. They'd never fought like that before. Where had the funny, caring man disappeared to whom she had believed loved her? Gone apparently. Beau had assured her that he'd be willing to fuck her on the side and went so far as to make her a horrid offer. "I have friends and they already said they like you. And important contacts who are looking for a good time. They're willing to cut me a deal."_

"_You'd let your friends…" She hadn't been able to finish the question, seeing the answer in Beau's eyes._

"_These guys will pay top dollar for a night with you. Show them a good time, and we both win. What you enjoy is hardly suitable for marriage." He'd shoved her, yanking her hair as if to demonstrate that the kind of things she enjoyed doing in bed, no man wanted his wife to like. She'd shouted at him to stop and from bad, it got worse. After Beau had slapped her face and tore her clothing, she threatened to call the police. "Typical move for a piece of ass. Point proven," Beau had sneered before she'd pushed him off her. It was the last time she'd seen him._

Beau Humphrey and his pompous banker family of men marriedvirgins to assure that their wives were suitable. Archaic jerk! Sure, Beau had enjoyed her in bed, but he wasn't about to ask her kind of woman to be the mother of his children or sit at his parents' table, or occupy the family pew in church_._

Right now, inside this hallway under the glowing red light with Christian, she felt an affinity, as though he was the type of man who wouldn't judge her. The connection excited and scared her. She'd shied away from dating since her blow-up-break-up with Beau, preferring to concentrate on her future, something no man could take away.

Since setting herself free, she'd enrolled in grad school to study human sexuality, and kept her bedroom persona locked away. Only now, she was confused and aroused by Christian…and also in need of graduating.

Living on her part-time salary as a TA, she barely made enough to cover her expenses. She refused to accept help from her family, preferring to make it on her own. It was too late in the semester to find another project, one that would get her the recognition she'd need to snag a good job in a large city. It was her ticket out of Paris and away from small-minded people.

If she ran out that door and left the premises, she'd never have a second chance. She faced Christian and met his stare. "It's true. That's what I was doing here."

He pushed off from her, releasing his hold on her body, and narrowed his eyes. "For fuck's sake. Are you telling me this is some sort of game?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, which under his glare felt all too naked. "Not a game. Never."

"But you're only here to see how things are done…research. Right?"

"Not exactly. I graduate in May. This is part of my Master's thesis." She closed her eyes. This was coming out wrong. "Christian…"

"Well sugar, then maybe we should get you fixed up with one of the other studs who can show you a real good time, seeing you only have a matter of months. Why settle for one flavor when, hell girl, you might want to try a ride on every man in the place?" He was being mean for some reason and she stepped forward, unable to keep from defending herself.

"You got it wrong," she snapped.

His eyes roved pointedly over her body. "Don't think so. I know plenty of women like you."

He'd better not be implying she was some sort of tramp. "Don't you dare pretend you know the littlest thing about me. You don't even know my whole name!"

"Doesn't really matter." He laughed…short and bitter, taking a step in her direction. "I'm not the one kissing you just to see how it feels, so I can fill out a report."

"Oh, so what you do here really means something memorable?" she asked unable to extinguish the fire taking hold of her temper. She held his gaze and flung, "Silly me, I thought a sex club was just about sex."

He took another step toward her, crowding her body with his larger, virile one, and instinctively she stepped back until she was flush with the wall.

"I guess from your vantage point…it is," he growled in her face.

"Don't waste your Dom tactics on me. I'm not interested. Besides, Sir…isn't that what you're called, or is it Master? There's probably a line at the door just waiting for you to return_, Sir_."

Christian came up to her, placing his hands on either side of her head, caging her between his sculpted arms. "Since you're the one keeping score, correct me, but I didn't hear you complaining. Not when you were watching the windows. Or when I put my hands on your body. Or even when you ground your pretty ass against my cock. Not one damn word about stopping or not being turned on. I know," he bent his head and whispered against her ear, "that you were about to come in your panties. I bet if I put my finger inside that pussy of yours, it would be wet, warm, and ready to be fucked senseless. So don't lie to me, little researcher."

His words lit a fire in her to her temper that enflamed her from the inside out. She shook, growing more and more angry, and her heart thudded in her temples. The space felt hotter than an oven as she stared into his face and wasn't about to let him have the last word. "I wanted to see down the hall and you weren't supposed to…it wasn't my in-ten-tion to like…I didn't ex-pect…I'm col-lecting infor-ma-tion, dammit!"

To her horror, her quivering words came out more and more unsteadily and she couldn't finish. Her voice cut off as her thoughts unraveled. She lifted her shaking fingers and swiped a strand of hair behind her ear. God, how she hated her inability to talk when she got upset. Inside her trembling body, a ball of heat began to grow and grow as she stood there, silent and frustrated, glaring up into Christian's face.

He raked his eyes down her body and a wicked smile tugged at his lips. "You saying that's all you're after? Well, let's have at it, then, I thought you were just teasing me. Let me show you how I can go the distance and have you screaming my name in less than ten minutes. If you're pressed for time, five minutes would work, with the things I know a woman like you would prefer."

Now he'd done it! She seethed, so angry even her hair felt on fire. "A woman like me?" she snarled, taking a deep breath as she jerked away from the wall.

"Yeah. A woman like you." He bit his bottom lip, his eyes practically feasting on her boobs.

"I'm. Up. Here." She jabbed him in the chest, punctuating each word. "You have never encountered anyone like me before. So don't even pretend you could keep up, cowboy. Whatever you might think you know about me, it's all wrong."

She drove her palms into his chest. It was either that or her hips. No matter, her attempt at a shove was a total joke. Under her hands, the muscular contours of his pecs didn't yield but flexed, sensually provocative and utterly tempting. They stood frozen for a second, his heart thudding against her palms and their breathing coming in gulps. The heat of his body permeated the space around her and she silently groaned. What in the heck would he look like without that shirt? _Shit!_ Her rogue brain was seriously demented if she couldn't keep the thread of his insulting words in her grasp.

"Naw. I think I got it right." He backed away from her and she let her arms drop until her hands were safely against her sides. He stared down at her, displeasure written all over his face.

"If there's one thing I have learned, it's timing. Mine is for shit and I can see you're all talk. Probably a damn good skill for research."

"Oh, and how would you know?" She glowered up at him.

"Darlin', just because I wear a Stetson and cowboy boots, and spend countless hours shoveling manure, don't make the mistake of thinking I'm your average shit-kicker. I got a college degree same as you, only I didn't have to kiss anyone to earn it."

She gasped, watching him walk away. He turned to tip his hat in her direction and opened the door to step through the hallway entrance. She expected a man with such a biting temper to slam the door, but he didn't. Her last vision of Christian was his profile as he shook his gorgeous head. A muscle on the side of his face had twitched. She could see he was attempting to control himself and then like magic, standing against the wall in the dim hall, her therapist brain switched on, prompting her to wonder why this even mattered to a man like him. Wasn't it all sex and games anyway?

**Chapter Five**

Christian stretched his arms, testing his sore shoulder. Flexing his muscles, he grimaced from the darts of pain radiating from his neck down to his elbow. He peered out the window in his bedroom at the morning sky. Smoke-colored clouds spanned the distance, grayer than yesterday, and promised falling snow. He lay in bed for several minutes, with no inclination to do much except turnover. Last night, he'd fallen into bed without bothering to get undressed, and now clamped his jaws together, trying to escape the dull ache of a hangover hammering the sides of his head. Coffee. He needed a gallon.

But that would involve moving. Not gonna happen in this lifetime if he didn't stop the mental whining. He swore at the sound of blaring music roaring to life from below. Had to be the cleaning crews working, but they weren't in the habit of boosting the stereo system that loud. He folded an arm over his face and closed his eyes. Just one more night before he was due back in Annona. For once, he was more than happy to face working a stubborn-as-hell horse that had the ability to kick the shit out of him. A vast improvement over a fiery sass-mouthed woman who, no matter how he resisted, occupied his thoughts—and as of last night, his dreams. His cock was still hard from imagining he'd fucked her good and rough in this bed. Even now, knowing full well that she was nothing more than a tease, he recognized things had probably gotten out of control in her world. But not in his. Not by a long shot.

A pounding on his door reverberated in his head. Shit, he'd promised Pen that he'd help with the downstairs maintenance work.

"You up?" Pen called from the hall. "Shit. Are you alone?"

"Fuck you!" he bellowed.

Pen opened the door and laughed. "Oh, hell. You were about to come in your jeans anyway. Just jerk off and stop crying." He leaned against the jamb. "Or call her."

"It's bad enough I have you to thank for raining on my parade, but don't tell me who the fuck to call."

"You don't want her card? Fine by me." Pen sent the card flying and it landed on his chest.

Christian glanced down at his shirt and plucked the card off. "Of all the women you let in…promise me you'll stop agreeing to any pretty face who asks you."

"Speaking of members and your text from Sunday. Man, I ain't got a hankering to allow a pair of spoiled girls into this place. It wasn't me who gave those twins permission to join."

He flashed him a look. "Say again?"

Pen rubbed his forehead. "Wasn't me. I'm not that far gone. Those girls would tear this place up. If the rule was no, they'd do it just because. I didn't agree to them coming in here. We need to find out who's giving out permission for any _Joe Schmoe_ to walk through our front doors."

"The cards they handed me are downstairs. The handwriting is so bad I assumed it was yours. But shit, if it wasn't, we'd better come up with a system to spot a fake club pass." Christian yawned, then stretched. "I guess it's time to get to work."

"There's coffee downstairs, if that will motivate you some."

Christian flinched. "Yeah. I'll meet you downstairs and be ready to roll after I change."

Pen pulled on his hat. "Didn't want to say anything, but those clothes could stand up and walk after last night."

"I don't remember doing anything out of the ordinary."

"Then maybe you'd better reconsider what you think is normal." Pen walked to the window and nodded. "Yep. My truck is still up on blocks, thanks to you. But it's not too bad, 'cause yours is up on blocks too."

"God. Damn." He exhaled and spread his hands out in front of him. They weren't dirty, but his shirt did feel somewhat stiff. "Guess we were drinking like fish last night."

"Good card game, though," Pen added before he winked and then sauntered off.

Christian picked up the card and stared at the name. Anastacia Steele. So her name was real—he should have known from her sassy attitude. She was from the University of Texas. The truth again, and it made the back of his neck tighten, recalling her admission that she was at the club looking for information. He rubbed his thumb over the raised print on the card citing the Department of Psychology. Is that who was interested in a sex club these days?

On the back she'd written that she was a teaching assistant. He coughed, trying to imagine her explaining what she had seen last night to a group of students. The truth, and it stirred a simmering in his belly. Bona fide spitfire…reminded him of some high-spirited fillies he worked with and had gotten kicked and bit by on several occasions. He wrinkled his brow. He did business with a Ray Steele. The man had some of the best quarter horses that he'd seen in Texas—strike that, in the United States. Champions and he had a pair of yearlings from Steele's prized stallions back at Evermore. Oh hell, what were the chances? He placed her card on his nightstand and leaned on his elbow, wondering why on earth a university student wanted to study a sex club? It irked him that he didn't have the answer and he shook his head.

_Shit, I got to stop this. Now._ He wasn't going to waste another gosh-darn minute distracted by Anastacia—_Anastacia_. He knew enough Spanish to understand her name translated to _mine._

"Anastacia," he whispered, then remembered he wasn't supposed to be thinking of her. Good luck with that one!

He rose off the mattress and pulled his shirt from his body. He needed to shower but considering he'd get sweaty in a matter of minutes, he opened a drawer and took the first shirt he laid eyes on and changed into that. He plugged in his cellphone that had died at some point last night and went downstairs. In the storage room, he found his tool belt and began plugging in extra battery packs for his hand tools.

"Got you something," Pen said, coming through the doorway. He held out a large Styrofoam cup of coffee. "Extra black. Need some aspirin?"

"This is my liquid pain killer. Thanks." He grabbed a tape measure off the shelf and reached for the cordless drill. "I'm ready. Thought we'd deal with a couple of maintenance issues you had listed on the board."

"Sweet," Pen replied, grabbing a belt as well. "The bar's got some plumbing leaks and part of the shelving fell down."

"Damn, wasn't the plumber out here just last month?"

"Downstairs bathroom. Knock on wood, this is the first time we've had any sink problems to speak of."

Once a month they kept up with little things before anything snowballed. The cost of renovations had whittled away at their budget and anything they could get done themselves would help with projections and his desire to expand. They'd tossed around the idea of a full kitchen and offering a decent menu. Other clubs had food on the premises. The liquor license had been granted without having to jump through too many hoops, so he hoped getting the permit for a restaurant would be a piece of cake.

A couple of hours later, the cleaning crews were done and the bar had running water which didn't pool under the rubber mats on the floor. But one job done didn't free them up yet. They'd determined the plumbing leak had caused a serious case of wood rot under the bar. He and Pen spent the morning tearing out the rotten wood in preparation for replacing it with fresh pine.

They stood out back, almost finished cutting planks for the new bar shelving. Pen handed him a piece of wood. "Here. This ought to do it."

Christian lowered the pine board onto the sawhorse, then measured and drew his pencil against the level, making his marks. "You sure about the measurements?" he asked Pen, while positioning the circular saw snug to one side of the wood. "Looks a might short."

Pen blew into his hands. "Sure as shit. Measure twice and cut once."

Christian pulled back on the trigger, pushing the spinning blade into the wood. He ran the blade through the thin line he'd drawn across the pine. He coughed from a cloud of saw dust and caught the plank pieces when he finished making his cut.

"Heads up." He tossed the pieces to Pen.

His partner stood leaning against the rail on the top step and he began stacking the pieces of wood they'd cut.

Christian brushed the wood dust from his shirt. "No time to stain the shelves."

"Nope. I'll try to get to it during the week." Pen held open the door, waiting on Christian. "Probably Wednesday. Polyurethane the pine, do some painting, and air out the place."

Christian picked up the two sawhorses he'd used to cut the lumber, then reached down and grabbed the saw. "Meet you back in the bar."

He returned the equipment to the storage closet and entered the bar area, picking up a piece of cut wood. On the bar's surface were stacks of glasses, bar utensils, napkins, and bottles of mixer. Basically, anything that had been under the bar was now on top of it. Christian grabbed the drill and knelt on the floor, holding the wood in place.

"What the fuck happened here?" Sam asked, as he looked over the top of the bar.

"The leak is no longer an issue," Christian said around two screws he held between his lips. "Shit," he groaned, remembering he'd left his level outside.

"I'll get to work on putting this stuff back."

Christian pushed off the floor and looked around for Pen. "God dammit. Where the hell did Pen slink off to?"

"In there. Something to do with the linen service."

With no one to bark orders to, he stomped through the bar and pushed so hard on the door handle that the back door swung wide open. He stared down into liquid dark eyes and the prettiest face he'd seen outside his dreams. Then he remembered that some pretty faces came with a whole mess of trouble attached and he sucked in his breath.

"Yeah? Forget something?" he asked, then added, "Miss Steele."

Anastacia had the tip of one boot on the bottom step while her other foot was firmly planted on the ground. "No. I'm here to see Mr. Penrose." Her gloved hand was on the railing and she arched a dark, inky brow at him. She actually expected him to step aside and let her in. Well, she had another thing coming.

"Like hell you are," he growled. "Any business you have will be done through me. I want to know exactly what you intend on doing with that information you collected last night. I didn't sign any release."

Anastacia's eyes widened for a second before she lifted one side of her full lips. "Who says you're the only person I can deal with? You're not the only owner. I'm more than happy to deal with Mr. Penrose. I think he and I see eye to eye as professionals."

Well, fuck him backwards with that one.

"Glad to hear. That's right, 'cause sugar, as far as I remember, you and I saw things on a much different level." _Say mouth to mouth. Hip to hip._ Christian narrowed his eyes. "I'd hate to think you tease and torment every man you come into contact with."

Just thinking about her lush body pressed up against his rubbed Christian all sorts of ways toward being hot and bothered, not to mention his cock lengthening in his jeans.

"Oh…," Anastacia gasped, pink flooding over her cheeks and he felt his pulse race. Staring at that lovely 'O' she formed with her full, moist lips, he ground his teeth to keep from reaching down and hauling her up against him. "Don't you dare start that again."

"Woman, I'll do anything I damn well please." Right now, the only thing he wanted to hear was his name on her lips and he knew just what to do to stop her barbed commentary. His body was tight and his hunger roaring; soon he'd be one son of a bitch to have to deal with if he didn't gain some control, and fast.

"I thought I heard fireworks," Pen said from behind him. "Christ, Christian. What's happened to your manners? Invite the lady in…it's snowing."

Anastacia's eyes moved from his face to his partner's. She didn't smile broadly but nodded hastily. "Thank you, Mr. Penrose. It's nice to see someone hasn't forgotten how to treat a lady."

"_Lady,_" Christian snorted. "Don't you mean _researcher_?"

"Don't mind him, he's just cranky." Pen held his hand out to Anastacia, crowding Christian on the step.

He had a mind to elbow Pen in the ribs and step right in front of Anastacia as she climbed the steps, hoist her up and then crush his mouth down on her soft pink lips. Instead, he gritted his teeth, watching her reach up and take hold of Pen's hand.

"What do you want?" he snarled.

"To discuss my project." She was right beside him on the step and still a head shorter.

He looked down into her dark eyes, framed by thick eyelashes which fluttered as though she were unsure of her next move. A vein in her neck pulsed and his glance fell to her chest, noting the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. He couldn't look away. He recognized fear, whether it was in a horse he was attempting to break or a woman inches from him, and seeing it in Anastacia made her even more desirable. His cock got harder, knowing she was soft in all the right fucking ways.

"Let her go, Pen." He demanded in a low voice. "She's mine to deal with."

It didn't matter that a million sirens went off in his head, warning him to step away from this hot mess. He couldn't. He had to see this thing through, or instinctively, he recognized that the level of regret would be far, far worse.

"Good. Because I was right in the middle of replacing a downstairs door. You alright with that, sugar?" Pen asked. "We can get him to promise to behave…make him put it in writing, if that'll work."

Anastacia licked her lips, a tiny smile working her mouth, and he noticed the shadow of two dimples denting her cheeks. "I can take care of myself. I learned early in life how to manage a stallion or two."

He moved aside to let her pass, inhaling the same fragrance that had kept him on edge for a night and now a day.

"You connected to Ray Steele?" Christian asked, remembering her last name and trying to focus on something—anything—besides her body. He stepped back and picked up his level, the one he'd come out to retrieve.

Anastacia mounted the top step and was eye-level with him now. "My father," she said. "How do you know of him?"

"Horses. High-spirited, and always give me a run for my money." He couldn't resist and arched a brow at her. "They require a firm hand."

She blushed and bit her plump lip. God damn, she knew just what to do to get to him. "He's down in Florida right now. Ocala, scouting out a few ranches and looking at some new stock. He's leaning toward Palominos."

That bit of information caught him by surprise. Steele was closely watched by all breeders, and any time a major horse farm enlarged its breeding pool it was news any rancher could use. But fuck, he wasn't going to soften his position just because this spitfire might have an in on breeding info of interest to him. He wasn't going to do more than escort her to the nearest office and lay down the law. In no uncertain terms, the S & L was in no way available for her to nose around and play at being a member. No one came here to bait his clientele. He clenched his jaw—over his dead body.

"After you," Pen said, giving him a look like he was off his rocker.

Anastacia turned around and stepped into his club. He gripped the level in his hand, the sirens going off in his head louder and louder. His chest tightened, as he stood there mesmerized by Anastacia's rocking hips, sashaying into the back hall. Pen held the door open, waiting for him and all the while talking nonstop about the club and this opportunity.

All he could do was stare, unblinking, at her ass. Round and framed by a tight skirt, and meant to be manhandled—by him. He could almost feel his cock sliding between her legs, and held back from groaning at the rush he got from envisioning the way he'd fist her hair and thrust into her from behind. Strike that—the first thing he'd do was spank her ass repeatedly for getting him this on edge and ready to roar.

"You coming, or what?" Pen asked at the door.

Christian clamped his jaws together at Pen's question. His dick jerked, straining against his zipper, and getting harder and in need of rough ride. Oh yeah, he was on the verge.

"Bringing up the rear," he muttered. Fuck, his previous commitment to being done with her was melting faster than snow under a summer sun. Each second he spent in her company, the valley of regret widened exponentially of being done with her.

"You might start with closing your mouth." Pen lowered his voice. "Give her a chance, for Pete's sake. Who knows, we might gain something important from a university giving us the thumbs-up. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"Say again?" He pushed up the hat which felt tight on his head. In the freezing weather, his body had heated to the point of sweat trickling down his back.

Pen faced him with a frown. "She's legit. She told me that the reason she selected us was because we respected our members. Specifically women. She felt safe coming here. Enough to keep pestering her advisor when the school flat-out refused to be involved. Two days ago, that girl finally got this project approved because of the information she gave her advisor. She refused to give up. We run a tight ship, or don't you think we can cut the mustard?"

"Hell yeah. You know I do." He snapped a bit too loud and noticed that Anastacia had stopped and was waiting at the end of the hall.

"Then stop being a pussy. You don't have to take her to bed, just explain how things are run and let her get a feel for our place. Either we plan on making the jump to big or we might as well shut this place down. Christian, it's one thing to have a ranch to go back to during the week, but this is my livelihood. I can't exist on next to nothing. I got mouths to feed. I might not be married, but my ex-wife has me by the short hairs. She's ready to haul me back to court for child support I still owe. Man, I need to make this club work or find another job. Hell, I went and got a bartending job during my off nights."

"Christ, why didn't you say something before now?" Christian kept his voice low.

"'Cause I was giving this place time to get settled. I got a note on my portion of the renovations plus all the other things that come due."

"I got your back." He nodded to Pen. "No worries." He stomped up the stairs with the bit between his teeth; a regular storming mess now that his back had been pushed to the wall. Not only was he fighting his own out of control hunger to fuck this woman hard, but now he had a ton of guilt on top of this urge, prodding him to play nice. _Nice!_

Hell, he didn't feel nice, or sociable. He swung his glance down the hall and stopped short. Seeing Anastacia up ahead, taking off her coat, and then the expanse of her tight sweater stretched across her unbelievable tits, he almost tripped coming through the door.

Pen glared at him. "Get hold of yourself." His partner grabbed his shoulder. "If you can't deal with her, I sure as shit can."

"I'm in control," he spat and shoved the level at Pen. "Take this."

Nothing could be further from the truth. At that moment, a ravenous hunger tore through his body. He felt mean, ornery, and in need of showing Anastacia Steele who was the boss. He dusted off the snow from his shirt, setting his jaw, and swore under his breath.

Reaching up to the peg, Anastacia hung her coat and the back of her skirt hiked up, revealing an expanse of smooth, golden thighs. His mouth went dry and for a second he froze, meeting her gaze. She arched her brow as though in some sort of challenge. _Oh naw!_ He marched the rest of the way down the hall, heading for a downstairs office, but realized he needed a place which didn't boast an open doorway. All the ones downstairs were more like alcoves than offices.

"Come with me," he growled, stalking past her and not stopping to even see if she followed or not. He turned down a hallway, one he hadn't been down in months, and flipped on the light switch. At the end of the hall in front of a set of double doors, he removed a set of keys from his pocket. He flung open one of the doors and turned on the lamp. Inside was a suite composed of a living room area with sofa, chairs, table and wet bar, and off to the side was the bedroom. He strode over to the bedroom entrance and slammed the door shut. He turned just in time to see Anastacia lingering at the threshold. "Well, come on in. I'm not going to maul you."

"Then why are you so upset?" she asked, lifting off the wooden doorframe and gliding inside.

"I'm not upset. Don't amuse yourself thinking you got my goat."

She had her arms crossed over her chest and stood by the sofa. "Know what I think?"

Fuck, why couldn't he stop envisioning her naked and him balls-deep inside her? Every syllable out of her mouth was some sort of drug that had him wanting a fix. Instead of being put off by her biting commentary, his dick was harder than he'd ever recalled.

"Is that a trick question?" He crossed by her and shut the door, already sensing they weren't going to leave the room without a loud screaming—or fucking—match. If it were up to him, he'd like both if it got her out of his system.

He was screwed…for being rubbed wrong, it felt all right. He didn't know if he should throw her down on the sofa or throw her out—either way, his promise to be civil could go to hell. He sucked in a breath, anticipation making it hard to concentrate on anything besides finding relief for his straining hard-on.

"I'm serious, Christian." She dropped her arms, unveiling the spectacular way her top molded to her tits. The vision made his eyes bulge and his cock throb.

"Dear Lord," he muttered. He stared at her nipples, erect points pressing into the soft material of her sweater. His effort to speak sensibly in her presence felt like he was chewing on shards of glass. He lifted his eyes to her face and struggled to say something. "Everything about you is a damn mystery. Let's cut to the chase, and you just fill me in."

"You're worried I'll share something that's privileged." She took a step closer and he stood his ground.

"Isn't that the point of your research? It's shared." He had never been one to back off from danger, whether it was a raging horse—a ton of bucking aggression with kicking hooves—or this little filly.

"I assure you, I'm a professional. I respect your club and your rules. This project is important to me. Not some weekend titillation. I intend on being around for at least twelve weeks, conducting graduate level work for my thesis."

"So are you going to sample whoever crosses your path while you're here? These people don't come here to have their private lives dissected and recorded."

"I'd never do that. You didn't give me a chance to explain."

With her dewy mouth and a body that tempted every cell he owned, he suddenly understood that he was outmatched. He inhaled, and within the confined space, her scent surrounded him. Delicate, but with an undernote of spice, and his blood heated to the point where he ground his back molars.

"What is it that you propose?" Shit, he couldn't believe he was even remotely considering letting her come back.

"I came up with a plan." Tossing her mane of hair like a dark cape about her shoulders, she propped her fists on her luscious hips and walked right up to him. "It might serve both of our purposes if we pretended that you were instructing me. I know that's what happens in a sex club. The Dom teaches a submissive how to act. It would save you from worrying that I was spying on your members by using them. And help me, since no one would try and make the move on me as your sub. I thinkit's_ perfect_."

Anastacia lifted her chin, curving her lips into a wide, cocky smile as her dimpled cheeks teased and tempted him sorely.

He couldn't resist. Didn't want to, if he was to be truthful, and without considering his words he said the first thing that came to mind. "So we'd just _pretend_ to be fucking?"

He took a step closer to her. The vein in her neck pulsed like a hummingbird's wing, and he thought he'd lose his mind if he didn't take hold of her. He hungered to suck on her skin, bite and lick a path to her mouth, where he'd kiss her for as long as it took to make her talk without always sounding like whatever she said was some sort a challenge.

"Yeah. Just pretending," she agreed but now her voice sounded tight.

"Say it." He growled. "I want to hear you say the words."

Her lashes fluttered as she glanced down. "Okay," she whispered. Her long, black eyelashes formed a spiked semi-circle lying against her cheek as her chest heaved and she licked her bottom lip. "We'd pretend to be _fucking_."

A blast of fire jetted straight to his balls and cock. The way she said the word fucking had him nearly insane. Did she actually grasp what she was agreeing to? He had to see if she was serious. He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted, until their gazes locked.

"And that's what you want. Night after night of me fucking you, but not for real. Any way I desired. You riding my cock as I make you scream my name in there." He jerked his chin over to his bedroom and then slowly said, "But only pretend."

Her voice faltered. "I-I don't understand."

"Well, sugar," he drawled, now only inches separating their bodies. "Here's the thing. As the house Dom, there's a little rule about training a sub I have to abide by."

"More rules?" she huffed.

He laughed at her reaction. Pushing his luck, he reached forward and took a strand of her dark-as-night hair, then twisted the silken strand around his finger. Without warning, he tugged with enough force to snap a jolt of pain and she didn't grimace. Instead, her pupils dilated and her lips parted. A flash burn spread all over his body at the confirmation that she liked it rough, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to calmly stare down at her and keep from claiming her mouth.

"Darlin', just how is it that we're supposed to fool everyone?"


	2. Collared by Christian Chapter 2

**Chapter Six**

_Fooling anyone_…Was he crazy? In two seconds, she'd be lucky if she didn't incinerate from the heat rolling off his gorgeous body and igniting her blood. Each time their gazes snapped together, the flames shooting from his eyes scalded her skin until her Angora sweater itched like crazy and felt like steel wool imprisoning her from taking a deep breath. She pressed her lips together. _Think, dammit!_

Leave it up to one domineering cowboy to crush her hopes. She had a darn good plan until he opened his wisenheimer mouth and shot her idea to smithereens. She glanced around the living room of wherever he'd brought her, and noticed a set of handcuffs.

"What about a collar?" She snapped her gaze back to his.

"What about it?" he asked, his blue eyes shining brighter in the daylight.

She stared, unblinking up into his face, unwilling to let him shred this idea. "I'll wear a collar. Can't we just say that we're taking it nice and slow?"

"Is that what you want?" he asked, rubbing his fingers over the hair still wrapped around his thumb and taking a deep breath.

"Pay attention." She jerked her head back, only to discover he wasn't letting her go.

His eyes narrowed and a muscle along his jaw twitched. "I'm thinking. You don't mind that we're not all running around doing things by the seat of our pants? Do you?"

"Of course not." Too late, she got that he was considering her and her request from the way his eyes were half-lidded and sliding over her body.

Under her lashes, she studied him. He bit the corner of his lower lip as he'd done last night and her body shivered.

"Are you cold?" he immediately asked.

God, was he in tune. She'd read that the difference between a run-of-the-mill Dom and one who was worth his weight in gold, was how sensitive he was to his sub. The way Christian acted at times, she might believe the only thing that interested him was biting off the head of whoever was in his path. But that was only one side to the man before her.

"No. I'm fine," she responded and scrutinized him. Christian nodded, then unwound her hair and sighed, but still he didn't say a word. "What are you thinking?" she asked, unable to stand the anticipation.

"Woman, you know this is trouble in the making." He gazed at her for a second or two without the hardness she'd encountered before, and then he raised a brow.

"It could be good for both of us," she whispered.

"Seeing is believing," he replied, scrubbing a hand over his face like he had the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. "Your track record is sorely wanting."

"Don't forget you had a part in what happened last night. Maybe you should learn some moderation."

"That's rich—a woman who admits to never having visited a private club is spouting advice. Baby, I think it's called humility, and you might take a lesson." He stared back at her with his sapphire eyes searching her face.

Damn! Didn't he know what he looked like? The type of man who seduced with a look…probably didn't even realize he had such power, and that's what made him irresistible. She wanted to reach up and hook her hand around his neck, then bite and kiss his full lips until he touched her again like he'd done last night. That day would probably never come again.

"You're good at what you do. Aren't you?" she asked.

"You had a taste."

She couldn't comment, not without coming off entirely transparent, and that's when it hit her. Cue imaginary smack to the forehead! "I think if we were honest with one another, it might help us to trust each other. We got off on the wrong foot, and I understand you should have been told straight off that I was here on business."

He lifted his shoulder. "You think?"

"I was wrong. It won't happen again."

Last night, she'd experienced a very potent side of the man which had her coming undone. She'd never been so turned on by a man who'd only kissed her. She traced his face with her gaze. He'd still not shaved from what she could tell, and with the scruff he sported, he looked even more rugged today. More commanding. God, she had a ton of questions she wanted to ask him. Really, he was perfect for her project—unless he refused. What could she do to sweeten the pot without crossing the line, when clearly her body wanted to cross the line and march all the way into his bedroom?

"So you'll agree to wear my collar?" he asked without forewarning.

"I said I would. Why?"

He pinned her with a commanding glare. Talk about transparent. In a twinkling, she understood he could do more than talk and all she had to do was agree. Strip her clothes. Submit. Christian—experienced and domineering—a head Dom, stood right before her, an erotic dream come to life.

No wonder when she'd left last night, she'd arrived home a basket case with one goal. She'd undressed and used her vibrator, hardly touching the tip to her swollen folds before she came hard. So forceful her thighs had quivered while she'd gasped for breath. It hadn't been enough. Fantasizing about how it felt to have Christian's erection riding over her clit, she'd moaned his name, repeatedly and a little loud. She'd feared that her roommate had heard her, but that hadn't stopped her. She'd climaxed again and continued to ride her vibrator seeking relief from a red-hot urge. Turning up the power, she had pressed her face into a pillow, moaning and imagining Christian's cock thrusting into her. Instead of being satisfied, she was even more on edge and with him in front of her, all doubts disappeared; only the real deal—or real Dom—would ease her throbbing ache.

"We'll need some rules," he said. "Something we can both agree to. Black and white and in writing."

"That makes sense," she replied, her voice coming out hoarse. Suddenly she craved getting closer to him and forgetting about her project, or the fact that they were standing in a sex club. Just put everything aside except their mutual attraction. She tried to stop the shiver overtaking her body, but the more she tensed the more tremulous she shuddered.

"If it's not the weather, something has got you wound-up. Are you always this easy to excite?" His eyes lowered to somewhere around her mouth.

"Don't go counting your subs before they're collared. This is business, remember?"

"If you say so, Miss Santero," he mocked, and then turned on his heel and went to the bar in the corner. He removed a pad from behind it. "Do you have a pen or pencil?"

"You mean we're going to write the rules out right now?"

"Is there a better time?" he retorted. "You seem like the type of girl who needs a few rules and some firm reminders."

She inhaled, refusing to take the bait, and opened her purse. "Here," she said, crossing the living room.

He began to write, then stopped. "Pink? Who uses pink ink?"

"You didn't specify a color. Hold on."

"I can see we're going to need some time to get adjusted," he muttered, and held out his hand. "Answer me honestly…how much kink experience do you have?"

"Real face-to-face?" She hesitated, wondering if he'd back out after hearing the truth that hers was all theoretical.

He returned her unblinking stare, then frowned. "Are you tallying? Not asking for names and dates. Darlin', just round up."

She swallowed. "I don't have to. The answer is zero." She laid a blue pen in his palm and touched his skin. The electrical current zapped her fingertips and flew up her arm. His eyes widened and she knew it wasn't her imagination.

"This is your first experience outside vanilla sex?" He straightened, and took hold of her arm. "You have had sex, haven't you?"

A heat wave overtook her. "Yes. Of course."

"Just checking." He released her, a muscle twitched along his jaw. Pressing his lips together, he turned his attention to the pad and she leaned against the bar.

"What is this place?" she asked. "One of the private rooms?"

"You might say that." He turned the pad to her. "There. That should cover it."

Grabbing hold of the pad, her brows knitted together. _Agreement Contract. Rule: What Christian McLemore deems appropriate stands and Anastasia Santero will follow. _With two signature lines below_._ "Wait. Are you nuts?"

"I think that rule covers everything that will go on between us."

"That rule isn't a rule. It's a diktat. How am I supposed to abide by a command that gives you complete freedom to do as you see fit? You'll have all the power…over me."

"Anastasia, you asked if I'm good," he began, incrementally leaning over, until they were less than a few inches apart and he stole the thoughts right from her brain. His gaze sprinted to her mouth, then rebounded to her eyes. "No, darling', I'm not good. I'm mind-blowing, fan-fucking-tastic. I'll make it my job to know what you want, but more importantly, what you need. There's a huge difference, and that's what distinguishes who commands and who pretends. I don't pretend."

"But…" She swallowed, believing every word he said. "You'd have to pretend with me."

He reached out and cupped her face in his warm hand. "Only until I believe that's not what you need."

"Then what will you do?" Her body hummed from the heat in his eyes. "I need to be certain I know what to expect."

"That's fair," he said softly. "I intend on giving you everything until you tell me to stop. Between you and me, there's something brewing. You said you wanted to be honest. Then let's. I could fuck you right now. God, I want to, and eventually I'm going to spread your legs, lick and suck on you and then I'm going to make you come like you have never come before, baby. And that's a promise I intend on keeping. So if you want to come back tonight, then do. I'll be here. But you'd better come back knowing the truth. I want you riding my cock and my name spilling from those luscious lips of yours."

He crushed his mouth down on hers, nipping her bottom lip before he traced the seam of her mouth with his hot, wet tongue. She moaned and parted her lips and he took the invitation to thrust his tongue into her mouth. She reached up, her arms with a mind of their own, and curled her hands around his neck, pressing her boobs into his chest. Christian deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding deep into her mouth, lashing and coaxing her response. He provided an enticing preview of how he intended to fuck her…more like owning her, and she didn't want him to stop.

Without shame, she rubbed her hips over his, her craving for him ignited, and all she could do was hold on to him. God, he offered her something that only required she find the courage to agree. He didn't push her. No. He put the ball in her court and now it was up to her. Yes. Or no.

Every atom in her body hollered, "Yes! Yes!" This time he didn't move them to a wall, he just kissed her. Even with her melding to his body, he didn't haul her to him like last night. Oh, jeez. The effect of holding back had her wanting more.

"Mmm," she moaned. He was amazing to kiss. She was melting, and if she didn't have a meeting with her advisor she'd be peeling off her clothes this very second.

He lifted his head. "So, are you coming back?"

Swallowing, she grappled to gather the remnants of levelheaded thinking and realized nope…all gone. Christian had her to the point of throbbing and he'd soon see she was a house of cards unless she made him think she was on the fence. Not some easy to arouse college student. She leveled her shoulders, trying to come across less than disheveled. Meeting his gaze, she was sure her bones had dissolved. Okay, she'd just have to pretend, until her sense of decorum returned.

"I—"She held his sapphire gaze and the idea of pretending to be unaffected evaporated; even with his cocked brow and arrogant grin, she wasn't going to lie just because he'd proven his point. Last night they'd both admitted with their bodies to wanting one another. Useless to lie to him now when he offered her truth. It was simply a natural, healthy response between two adults. Nothing to be ashamed of…if she kept from leaping off the edge. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes. I'll be back. I'd like to observe something different tonight. Is that possible?"

"I'll arrange it." He inhaled. "You'll need a collar and a cloak, and possibly a mask to shield your identity. You'll follow my directions when you visit here. Understood?"

"What—""she stopped talking when his warm finger pressed her lips silent.

"Repeat after me: Yes, Sir."

She felt her eyes widen as his hand slid down her face, tracing lightly over her neck and came to rest on her shoulder. "Well?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Not too difficult," he exhaled and removed his hand. He glanced down her body sharply. "First, I don't want you strolling around in any outfit that is too revealing. If you do, I'll bring you back here and begin your lesson in following directions, and that's the part that won't be fake. You step out of line, and I'm going to teach you how to behave. I might not be fucking you for real, but I will be spanking that beautiful ass of yours if that's what you need."

"I don't know—"

"We can start that lesson. Right now," he interrupted her.

She gulped out hasty, "Yes, Sir."

His nostrils flared. "Anastasia, it's no mystery that this lifestyle is totally new to you and I'm willing to help you. The only question is, are you in or out? Don't answer just yet. Think about it for a minute." He crossed the room and opened the door to an interior room.

She clung to the bar, her heart pounding a million beats a minute in her chest. She heard noises from inside wherever he'd gone—a door or drawer banged shut. Then another. The longer it took him inside, the faster her pulse sped up. She didn't need a minute or hour or day. She was in. All the way. Her only question was how to climb out once this project was over. He reappeared at the threshold, his powerful body framed by the doorway as he regarded her with a sizzling stare that swallowed her whole.

"I'm in," she whispered.

All she had to do was make sure he never had cause to discipline her and she'd be fine. Twelve weeks. How hard could that be?

Christian nodded, then crossed to the sofa and laid a satin cape of deep wine color with a matching mask across the back.

"Come here," he said, and held out a black leather band. "I want to try this on you." He sat on the back of the sofa with his muscular legs spread open.

"A collar? You just happen to have a spare?" she asked.

"This is a club. So, yes." He rubbed his fingers along the collar's edge, his eyes dropping from her face to trace her body as she came over to him, and stood just in front of his knees. "Closer," he said, lifting his gaze to stare into her eyes.

She walked in between his legs. "How's that?"

He immediately said, "Turn around and lift your hair." His breath caressed her neck and the hairs along her body rose. "Your slender neck will look beautiful encircled by a collar."

Her nipples tightened into peaks and she felt lightheaded, lifting her hair. His arms brushed against her shoulders as he adjusted the collar and the whole room seemed to waver each time his fingers touched her skin. He stopped fiddling with the collar and dropped his hands on to her hips, pivoting her to face him.

She felt like she couldn't breathe. "I never wore one of these before. Is it supposed to fit this tight?"

"Let me see," he said in a hoarse voice, pulling her closer. Any closer, they would be sharing the same airspace—if she could remember to breathe.

She reached up and ran her fingers over the stiff leather, and traced the metal rivets. Something pierced her skin and she blinked. "Ouch."

"Dammit," he swore. "Hold on."

He spun her around by squeezing his hands on her hips and his fingers grazed her bottom, making her clench. The feel of his fingers grazing her neck while his forearms rested on her shoulders had her biting her lip.

His breath came in teasing pants as he worked the buckle, adjusting it to a looser fit, and she swayed from the explosion of sparks under her skin.

"Your skin is pretty sensitive. This isn't the best collar, but since we're only pretending," he said, brushing his cheek against her shoulder.

"It's fine. Really. Thank you." She touched the collar, swinging her chin back and forth, then leaned over to the left and rested against his muscular thigh. She waited for him to say something. Wasn't that how being a good sub went? It would take a boatload of patience and she desperately lacked an easygoing nature. Maybe sub training could teach her a thing or two.

"Okay, then." He said in a deep voice and pressed his fingers to her lower back. He rose, moving her forward, and took a few steps away.

"Will I be able to ask you some questions?" She licked her lips, bruised from his kiss.

He stared at her for a beat, then walked over to the pad and wrote something. He crooked a finger in her direction. "Last thing before this is a done deal."

He'd added a provision: _Anastasia Santero is free to ask any question which will be answered honestly._ She laughed. "Ah. I feel better." She picked up the pen and signed her name on the line.

She held the pen out to him, recalling her initial impression of him—as power personified. That's how he seemed, at first, anyway. But maybe what she'd observed as powerful was actually power under control.

Taking the pen from her, he touched her fingers intentionally, not bothering to hide the fact. "Last thing before I see you again tonight."

She vacillated in categorizing him a mere product of training or control. No, she couldn't dismiss that within Christian ran a river of something raw. Potent. And yes very, very powerful.

"Yes?" she said, not certain what to expect after that kiss and now his lingering touch.

He swung his gaze up to her face. "What's your safe word? Every sub needs one under my training."

"Oh. I guess…" Her stomach twisted at the mention of another sub in his training. Did he have more than just her? Don't be stupid, this isn't a date and that part of the equation doesn't matter. She thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. "Red velvet."

A grin tugged at his lips. "Nice combination. God, you'd look amazing in red velvet. Pretty damn hot."

"Actually, it's my favorite cake." She smiled back at him shyly.

**Chapter Seven**

"WHY DOESN'T THAT SURPRISE me?" he asked her. God she was a breath of fresh, fresh air.

"I like sweets. Is that a crime?" She smiled and his chest tightened.

"Hardly." Made sense she'd be thinking in innocent terms. Not him. His dick stood up at the mention of red velvet on her lips. The erotic image he had veering away from food, but not eating. He hungered to taste her velvet heat.

"Anything else I ought to know?" she asked.

Her question jarred him back to sanity. "Darlin', tonight it's guest night. The last Monday of the month. So what you might see is anyone's guess. Some guest nights are pretty tame and some are on fire. Give people a pass to another world and sometimes they go a little crazy."

Anastasia's cheeks colored. "I can testify."

Her fingers worked to unbuckle the collar. The thought of her removing his collar irked him—reminded him this wasn't as real as he'd like. He brushed her fingers down. If anyone was going to take it off, it would be him.

"Let me," he said. She needed to learn to follow his direction on the dot, or she'd have difficulty comprehending the first thing about a submissive's role and bond between a Dom and sub. He inhaled, placing the collar on the sofa. He walked to toward the doorway his private room and decided he'd better prepare her. "Kiss me."

"Excuse me?" she said, coming up to him.

"I thought so," he commented. He turned and took her by the shoulders, then tipped her chin up to him, and raised his eyebrow. "Forgetting something, sweetheart?"

"Yes, Sir," she whispered, his breath coming out in shallow pants.

God, she was a beauty. Her eyes so dark he thought he might get lost staring into them. _Not helpful to her or me._

He fought to keep from taking hold of her and used words to put some distance between them. "Anastasia, when I give you a direction, everyone in the place will have their eyes on you. If you don't follow it, the expectation will be that I'm going to discipline you. If there's latitude in the direction, all you have to do is follow it, and how you do that is your business. But know this…" He couldn't help himself as he backed her up to the door. "If you don't follow the direction, then we leave wherever we are. Simply put, that means you have less time around the subjects you're trying to study. Correct?"

"You're right. They are like subjects, but not exactly. I don't have this set up as an experiment. But your point is correct. I understand."

She stepped forward, looking up into his face, and pressed her mouth to his. One chaste kiss, and he didn't push, even though the urge tore through to take hold of her and ravage her perfect mouth.

"How was that, Sir?" she asked, her breath whispering over his mouth. She'd grabbed hold of his waist and for milliseconds after the kiss ended, he was tortured by the brush of her fingers caressing the sides along his abs.

His pulse skittered. "Great. I would have settled for a peck on the cheek. But that was…fine. No complaints."

"I see. You're teaching me to see the whole picture, not the obvious route."

He wasn't certain what his point was anymore, other than he wanted her body up against his. Hell, if she thought this lesson was part of a larger schematic, he'd run with it. "Keep your blinders open," he said gruffly.

"You're funny," she said, swinging her purse higher on her shoulder. "I get it."

He escorted her to the back door and then out to her car. "I knew it," he said, staring at her bumper.

"What? Oh." She smiled up at him. "Yesterday?"

"You could have talked to me? Saved us both a huge headache?"

"Maybe we needed to get shaken awake. I think we're on the right path now," she whispered. "Don't you?"

His heartbeat slammed into his ribcage and he contemplated her words as the blood left his head and flowed into his dick and balls. All he could consider at the moment was the prospect of hoisting her over his shoulder and carrying her upstairs to his apartment, then fucking her until the headboard knocked a hole into his wall and left them both sore for days. He slowed his breathing, as he did when he needed to gain control of any situation, and focused on minor details. Anything to fasten his mind to the ground and stabilize. There were milk crates filled with papers and folders in her back seat. "You sure do take your research seriously," he said, releasing a slow, deep breath.

"That's student work I have to grade. I'm a teaching assistant to a professor in my program. My real job, for now."

"My sister attends and works at UCLA. Marketing. She's only begun. Not like you, in grad school."

"I remember the days," she replied. "And I'll be glad when I finish."

He held open her car door as she slid onto the seat. "Guess it'll be nice to work in your field. Therapy?" he remarked.

"Yep. On the last leg of becoming a licensed mental health counselor. And I plan on moving away the day after graduation." She started the engine of the car and he gripped the door, digesting that piece of information.

"I'll see you later," he said. Suddenly the light as a feather feeling he'd had going on plummeted to the ground. She'd be leaving in a few months. Gone.

Shit, he'd already done this dance. He watched her pull out in the falling snow and stood there, his breath coming out in a cloud around him. Without blinking, he continued watching her drive away until her brake lights were invisible. God damn his stinking luck!

He stormed back into the club and stood there.

"You look like hell," Penrose said matter-of-factly.

"Thank you," he retorted drily. "Anything else you'd care to add? Come on. Take your best shot."

Sam walked by. "You could use a shave."

Christian shot them withering look, and clenched his jaw and held up his middle finger. "To both of you."

"Hey, you asked." The bartender shrugged and then held up his drill. "I'm putting this back in the storage closet. Unless you need it."

"No. Not _unless_ I have time to nail your ass and his to the wall."

His partner laughed. "Then you'd need the nail gun. Not the drill. Sam, go ahead and put it away," Pen said. "Thought you'd be in a much better mood after spending an hour with the red light on."

"What are you saying now?" Christian glared at Pen.

"I'm not the one who flicked on the light." His partner pointed down the hall. Sure enough, the red light was on.

"I made a mistake," he snapped.

"Oh, I seriously doubt that. She's just what the doctor ordered."

"Well, fuck the doctor," he growled.

Pen scratched a hand down the side of his face. "I haven't seen you this put out and turned on since, Jesus H. Christ, I can't recall when."

They'd known each other since grade school, and it was true. He felt like his skin was no longer the right size. He was hot, then cold, nauseous, and wanted to smack his head against the wall over and over until one gosh-darn sensible thought materialized that didn't have to do with Anastasia and getting her naked. _Them_ _naked._

"She's driving me crazy," he said in a low voice.

"We all can tell. There's only one way to solve that dilemma."

"Taking her to bed, and then what?" He strode forward with Pen tailing him. He shot a look over his shoulder, his scowl warning Pen this wasn't the moment to pull his chain.

"Yeah. Get her out of your system. You're just frustrated and horny. Bran, this isn't a hard problem. Not counting your dick." The fucker actually laughed out loud.

"Asshole."

"Take a look around, buddy. You're standing in the middle of a sex club. On every night we're open there are some hot women who show up and want to get laid. If you can't be with the one you want, then brother, enjoy the one you're with. Isn't that how the song goes?"

He flipped off Pen again, then flipped off the red light. "Operative word: song. This is real life, and that woman isn't even sure what she wants."

"As if any of them are," Pen muttered. "Ever thought your expectations were too high?"

"Never." He exhaled, not caring to stand around arguing over wanting another woman who wanted to get away from this part of the world. "I'm going upstairs to shower and get my head on straight."

"Great. We're going over to Papa Joe's. You in?"

"Sure. I'm hungry as hell but we've still got our trucks on blocks."

"Sam and I will deal with the wheels. Man, what you need is an ice-cold shower and a shot of whiskey."

"Really. That simple?" Christian rolled his chin, assured that he needed more than water and booze. He hungered for heat, the type only Anastasia could offer.

"Oh hell. Not really, but it'll tide you over until you see her again," Pen replied.

HE returned downstairs after he'd showered, shaved and changed into a starched button-down shirt and fresh jeans, ostrich boots and a black cowboy hat. Not his usual garb, but it was a guest night and no one would give him a load of shit considering they had a few high rollers on the guest list.

Revived and with his stomach rumbling, he stopped by the membership area and wrote a note, reminding Marty that Selma and Esme were on the no-admit list and to keep an eye peeled. Dealing with those two would require a possible sit-down, yet with whom, he couldn't imagine—he shook his head, wondering who he could drag into this fiasco. Not their preacher father; without a mother, they'd gone from rebellious to truly reckless. Maybe Cory, his sister, would know of someone who he could call on and find out why the twins' wild natures were driving them to the point of being self-destructive. The twins were on the brink of blundering down a very slippery slope if someone didn't reach out and stop them.

BY the time he, Pen and Sam returned from lunch, the couple of rounds of beer and pool they'd enjoyed had Christian relaxed—somewhat; enough to ease off wanting to grind his back molars until they'd damn near cracked. Walking back into the club, he reminded himself to get his head out of the clouds. He carried the homemade pie he'd bought at Joe's and headed to the stairs, taking a moment to get his game plan together.

Each step down the corridor convinced him this was going to be quite the night. He paused, glowering at the unlit red light bulb, then peeled his focus away and toward the staircase. Under his hat, he mentally shifted as he walked by his private hallway. A sharp piercing stabbed him with each passing minute. Scaling the stairs, he couldn't escape the thought of Anastasia's mouth and soft moans as they'd rubbed against each other, and then that scorching kiss from today. He put the pie in the fridge, then leaned against the kitchen counter, dragging his hand over his face, and wondering what he could possibly do to weather the evening.

He stopped struggling to subdue his imagination and dove into a full-blown fantasy session of him hauling Anastasia down that hall in a loud and nonstop session of teaching Anastasia a thing or twenty. High on the list: stop the damn teasing! Starting with his hand on her naked bottom, he savored imagining a slew of loud apologies spilling from her beautiful mouth. His desire ramped to do more than mentally fuck her long, hard, and rough.

That fantasy did little, if anything, to help quench his lust. The cloying weight returned double from when he'd awoken today. Shit, this was hopeless if he couldn't satisfy his craving and soon.

One more night and he'd be on his way back to Annona. Pen would be here to take the reins and he could deal with watching over Anastasia. A twinge shot through his body, dissolving the last iota of his newly-found relaxed state. Who the hell was going to watch over her if one of the members got it into his head that she was up for the taking? He glanced at his kitchen clock, then bolted back downstairs, and stuck his head inside the main bar.

"Sam, I'll be back in a few," he barked.

"The sink started leaking again." Sam pointed down at the floor. "Got a pail under the pipe where the drip is coming from. Not as bad as before."

"Are you serious?" He crossed the room. "We can't get any maintenance work done this close to opening."

"Not news. That's why I'm starting to box up some of the stuff. Where do you want me to put it?"

"Find a place. Here." He tossed Sam his keys. "Get it stowed and we'll deal with the leak tomorrow."

"I have this covered." Sam jingled his keys. "Not much is going on. No games, so I doubt we'll get anyone early today. Pro Bowl isn't until next week."

"Shit, I forgot. My sister's boyfriend is playing." He needed to call Cory and find out about her coming to Stephen's wedding. He still didn't have a date, and at this point, he didn't care if he showed up stag; just being part of the wedding party was fine by him.

He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and dialed a number he had not used in months.

"Yeah," a man's voice answered.

"Omar?" he asked.

"Last time I checked," the man responded.

"Dude, this is Christian McLemore," he said. "I need a favor and it's short notice."

"Talk to me."

"I need a collar. Not the usual." He paused, considering what he envisioned would showcase Anastasia's lovely neck. "Exceptional. I want something elegant. Classy."

"Ah. Truly special." Omar chuckled. "You're in luck. I just finished what I'm taking to New Orleans. We were planning on hitting the highway later today. Can you get here before five?"

"Man, I'm on my way."

"I moved," Omar said, and Christian focused on the man's words.

"You're still in Paris, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but off Locust. The artsy side of town. Don't ask. It's my wife's idea."

The only other times he'd visited Omar, his shop was located in the seedy part of Paris, sandwiched between a mechanic's garage and a strip club; apparently business was good for the BDSM metal world.

"Good you said something. Text me the address and I'll plug it into my GPS."

Christian had never purchased a collar fashioned out of anything but leather. The act was symbolic, and to him it never meant anything beyond a submissive wanting a tangible. This felt more along the lines of him asserting his claim over Anastasia, a sign that all members would recognize as meaning stay the hell away from her. She was his until the end of the project, and all he could think was heaven help him then.

He pulled up in front of Omar's shop. It was Monday, late in the afternoon, and there was a fair amount of business traffic in this part of Paris. Artsy was for real. There were women pushing strollers, even if the weather was damn frigid. Omar's shop sat between a coffee shop and a tattoo parlor, and farther down the street were artists and all sorts of small boutiques. He pushed open the door and a bell chimed. Omar was bent over a table with a soldering gun. He looked up and smiled.

"Almost didn't recognize you," Christian said, glancing around the glass cases filled with all sorts of jewelry, and envisioned Anastasia in the belly chain displayed in one. "How goes it?"

"Life is good," Omar said and stretched.

Christian drummed his fingers along the edge and made up his mind. "Whoa. Man, this is some incredible stuff. I'll take this piece to start. The belly chain."

"No complaints." Omar smiled. "Hot choice. Rose gold and sterling. What's the news? You looked…settled." He reached into the case and removed the chain with the different colored stamped metal.

When he'd first met Omar, it was on Evermore and they'd hired him to do some welding. Over beers they'd spoken about Paris. One thing led to another, and Christian had learned about Omar's specializing in artistic metalwork on smaller projects. Much smaller, in the range of body wear—chains, cuffs, and collars to be exact.

"Still on the run. But this place…quite a setup," Christian said, admiring the other glass cases featuring the intricate designs. So ornate, some of the collars and cuffs were pieces of artwork as well as jewelry.

"I found a niche and things have been going well. Let me show you some special pieces."

Omar's success had taken him from being a welder to a metal worker and now to gaining recognition within this part of the art and jewelry world. Christian watched as the artist pulled out a leather-bound case and opened it, revealing quite a few collars fashioned out of gold and sterling silver.

"Those are a work of art," he said, imagining one special collar he spotted fitting perfectly around Anastasia's neck. "That one. May I see it?"

"God. I just knew you'd want it. Can't. It's already promised."

"I'll give you double whatever has been offered."

"Dude, that's a one-of-kind. Platinum. It costs a bundle." Omar smiled. "What about this one? It's refined in the same way."

"No. That's the one. It's exquisite just like the girl. She's got this black hair that's wild. Straight, and frames her face. Man, her eyes. I have never come across anyone like her before. Everyone else fades into the background when she's around. The collar is perfect."

"Let him have it," a woman's voice rose from the corner of the shop.

"Maggie," Omar said. "Come meet Christian. Hey, this is my wife."

"Pleasure," Maggie said, with her hand outstretched. "Any man who sounds like that describing a woman is on a mission. You and she deserve this collar."

"Hey, you're lucky. She's the boss." Omar chuckled and set the collar on the black velvet pad on the glass counter. The collar's brilliance sparkled, reflecting but at the same time absorbing the light, so similar to the way he thought of Anastasia. He fingered it, imagining it warm against her throat.

WHEN it rained, it frigging poured. By the time he walked back into the S & L, the club was packed. He took the leather gift boxes and placed them in his private room. Walking by the main floor, more than a few of the tables and booths were filled.

"Save me two spots at the bar," he said to Sam via the walkie-talkie.

"Roger that," Sam shot back.

Apparently more than a few members' guests had decided tonight was the night to be daring. A line had formed outside; not long, a few people, but it was a first in his world. He spoke to the security team at the entrance and told them to escort a member by the name of Anastasia in immediately when she arrived.

He entered the front hall and spotted Marty. His manager gave him a thumbs-up and dug into his pocket. "Doing your walk-through?" Marty asked.

"It's that time," he muttered.

"Hold on. Sam said to give these to you." Marty chucked his keys and Christian caught them.

"Thanks. Not going to get far without them." Mechanically, he completed the club-opening routine, stopping and speaking to staff, making certain everyone on the schedule had shown up, and struggled to find his rhythm in overseeing a smooth start. It was business as usual, as far as he could tell, yet his body hummed, his muscles were tight, and his senses were on edge. And no fucking wonder. He stopped short at the sight of Anastasia and a nerve-snapping electrical current discharged throughout his body.

She stood at the front entrance, her head bowed, and listening to one of the security staff. Christian had the walkie-talkie on his belt and it crackled low. "Boss to the front."

The man working security smiled down at Anastasia, a little too broadly for his taste, and he had the urge to capture her wrists and lead her directly to his private room. He reminded himself to relax.

The security guard noticed his approach and jutted his chin out to him. "Christian. As you requested."

"Thank you," Anastasia said to the bouncer, then lifted her face and smiled in his direction; and everything else around him dwindled into insignificance.

When their gazes connected, a frisson of excitement tore through him. He thought he knew what taking a kick in the chest from a wild filly was like…but he didn't. Not like what just happened. He failed to understand—it wasn't like she stood there in that body-hugging dress she'd sauntered around in last night. His eyes roamed down the cape, then back up to the mask she wore, and he refocused on the black leather sub collar encircling her neck. Without thinking he, gritted his teeth.

She came just as he'd demanded. Walking toward her, he rubbed his fingertips together in memory of the silky softness of her hair. With each step closer, his hunger to unveil her heightened. She stepped to the side of the hall and the cape fluttered around her shapely calves. His eyes feasted on her smooth legs and he bit back a groan at the mind-blowing heels on her perfect feet. Some type of metallic combination, with silver chains around each delicate ankle.

He tried to swallow but his mouth was drier than baked summer earth at noon. How did she do this to him with just a smile? Reaching her, he stopped, and tipped his hat. "Good evening," he choked out.

"You clean up real well, cowboy," she said, holding out her hand.

He reached for her slender fingers, rubbing his thumb over her long painted nails. Nothing garish, but a pale pink, and he imagined her raking her nails down his back as he drove his cock into her. Shit, he was already aroused and getting harder by the second standing here.

"Anastasia. Mine," he returned.

She squeezed his hand and by instinct, he brought hers up to his lips, kissing the skin at her knuckles. He inhaled her fragrance permeating the air and a burst of pleasure skated up his spine. Still holding his attention, her lids lowered a fraction. The pleasure clearly was not all one-sided, and knowing she wanted him made the idea of backing off ridiculous. What Pen had said rang partially true: he was frustrated and needed to quench his thirst. But no one could do that except this woman. Not until he had them both naked, wrapped around each other, and screaming in overpowering pleasure would this aching hunger be appeased.

"What shall we do first?" she asked, smiling coquettishly at him.

"How about something to drink?" He drew his brows together. "Did you eat?"

"Yes. And yes." She came willingly to him when he pulled her hand and tucked it at the crook of his arm.

It had been years since he'd pursued a woman. The steeplechase he'd mount for Anastasia would be nothing short of fierce if he didn't gain some control. He could already feel the overpowering urge that he wouldn't stop until she acquiesced. But damn, he'd better reel it in somewhat: no more dry-humping in halls. She'd be the one pushed to the brink, until she couldn't stand it another second. Then he'd fuck her, for as long as it took to get her out of his system. A day…a week…he'd keep her in bed until his hunger was satisfied no matter what it took, and then he'd have his sanity back.

At least with a plan, he had something to latch on to instead of floundering helplessly. "Is there something specific you'd like to see tonight?" he asked, guiding her to the bar.

"I'm here to observe. Whatever you suggest."

"Let's get that drink first." He flashed a glance down at her.

"What goes on over there?" She pointed to the back corner of the bar.

"Do you play cards?" he asked.

She smiled sweetly, not making eye contact, and nodded. "Some. I played back home." When she looked back up at him, her eyes weren't smiling. Pain tinged her expression, and then she inhaled and focused on the bar in front of them. She surprised him by adding, "I can hold my own with most men."

_Most men._ "Well, you might be interested in that room. It's the place to find a poker game."

"Strip?" She swung her glance to the back corner as though she'd been let in on a secret.

"No. Clear-cut cards. Pretty damn serious." He followed her gaze and tipped his hat to some of the men at the door.

Anastasia touched his hand, swiping a fingernail across his knuckles. "I'm not studying gambling."

He met and held her gaze. "Guess not. With your education and plans. A sure shot away from here."

"Oh c'mon. You didn't get to where you are today without a boatload of goals."

"You're right about that, darlin'. Best to remember the facts. I'm ordering for you," he said, sliding his hand over her satin skin to her elbow, and then with his other hand, he swiveled the back of the stool for her to sit.

"Oh…yes, Sir. Please." The cape fell open and he gaped at the display of cleavage framed by the front of her white dress. She pulled the edges of the cape together again, but not before he got an eyeful of the neckline that molded to her unforgettable tits. From wearing skintight, red leather to virginal white, she made him more than anxious to strip her bare. Without a doubt, she was both the devil and an angel in how she teased and tormented him. God, she had him scrambling. He gripped the bar, catching Sam's eye.

"The usual?" he asked Christian.

"No. Open a bottle of wine. We just received some cases last week…we'll try a bottle of Cachè." He ignored Sam's raised eyebrow and slight smirk.

His tongue had turned to wood, much like his cock, and he found himself unable to speak. A thousand thoughts burned his brain. A majority were of Anastasia unclothed, and he closed his eyes to clear his mind.

"Are you feeling okay?" Anastasia asked.

"Yep. Just thinking," he said, opening his eyes and pulling at the collar choking his neck. He didn't know what to say, so he drummed his fingers on top of the smooth-grained surface of the bar for long seconds while she surveyed the area. Members—men—were checking Anastasia out. Their eyes kept returning to her again and again. It was only a matter of time before one of them came over for an introduction.

"It's a busy night," she said.

Sam came over with a glass. "The gentleman over there sent this."

Before Sam could walk away Christian snapped, "That will be last drink a member buys this lady."

Sam stifled a grin. "Understood, boss."

"Am I allowed to drink this, Sir?" she asked, her eyes innocently staring up to him.

"That's your choice. I was under the impression that hard liquor and you weren't a team. Was I off-base?"

"No. I don't drink a lot. I just thought it was the right thing to do when a man buys a woman a drink."

"Why? Are you into the guy that sent it?" he growled. No one, so far, knew that she was his sub. Shit, either he publically claim her or he'd have to put up with this nonsense.

The dimples in her cheeks flared. "Everyone here interests me."

Her suggestive voice shredded his vow to reel it in. Right now, he wanted her and had a vision of hoisting her off that stool and over his shoulder as he carried her to the nearest bed. _Not helpful, McLemore._ She's got you good, if all she has to do is bat her dark eyelashes and whisper.

Back to plan. He leaned against the bar as Sam brought over the corked bottle of wine and set up two glasses.

Sam poured a sample and pushed the glass across the bar to Christian. "I think you'll be impressed."

"Care to be the one to sample?" he picked up the glass and held it to Anastasia.

"Me?" she reached for the glass. "Sure, I mean…yes, Sir."

He watched Anastasia lift the glass and press the rim to her full lips. Suddenly he felt envious of her damn glass. She drank the sip of wine, then licked her lips. It was the most seductive wine sampling he'd ever witnessed. "Do you like?" he asked.

"Mmm. It's really smooth. Fresh. Please, pour." She beamed, sitting there innocently with her golden, glowing cheeks, long hair, husky voice, and stupefying scent.

He clamped his jaws together with the realization that the mask and cape had the opposite effect than he'd intended. Anyone with working sight could tell she was a rare beauty from one glance into her arresting eyes, and it didn't help that he'd briefly sampled her moist mouth. The mask accentuated her feminine facial structure, and the mystery enveloping her identity made her a challenge too enticing to ignore. Possessively, he scanned the bar and, Jesus Christ, more and more eyes—the foolish male type—were glued on her.

"Anastasia, this is Sam. Head bartender. Sam, open an account for Anastasia under my name."

"Nice to meet you, Anastasia." Sam went to shake Anastasia's hand and the bartender's eyes widened.

"Thank you. Likewise." She grinned back at Sam, her cloak open and her cleavage on display.

Christian interrupted the gesture and chatter with a sharp, "Immediately, I meant."

Both Sam and Anastasia smiled indulgently at him, as if he were some surly, misbehaving teenager. "I'm on it, chief," Sam mock-saluted.

Christian snorted. "We're here to enjoy a drink, not smile and carry on with my overzealous management team." Nothing more had transpired than a friendly greeting, and his caveman instincts flared stronger each time she smiled at another man.

Sam smiled and winked at Anastasia. "Oh, yes, she is."

He waited until Sam finished pouring and retreated. He picked up both glasses of wine, then gave her one. "To your satisfaction," he said.

"And yours," she returned, before tapping his glass with hers.

He sipped his wine, then turned to her. "I have something for you."

"Not more rules?" Her brow knitted together.

"Hardly. A gift," he said and smiled.

She gasped, tilting her head. "You bought me something?"

"Come with me. We won't be gone long." He motioned to Sam to save their spots. "No one will take these seats. We'll be right back."

He carried their wine glasses to the hallway of his private domain, and this time he wasn't going to make the mistake of accidentally flipping on the red light. They silently walked down the hall. "This club isn't that much different from any private club. We're hoping to open a restaurant soon," he said, mindful that Pen expected him to hype the place. He sucked at selling and to his ear, he sounded like a tight-ass.

"I think it's very classy. The dark wood and lighting, and leather furniture. Chic, upscale and modern. I researched your location when you said the club was part of a church, and this building is listed in the National Register."

"I'm only too well acquainted." He handed her a glass when they came to the locked double-doors. "It's one of the reasons it's so difficult to get renovations done. Zoning and permits are a regular headache for historic places." He removed his keys and stood back after opening the door. Her long hair was done in waves tonight, and he longed to bury his face in the black silk, rubbing his hands over every inch of her body.

Inside his private rooms, the lamps were lit, and he brought her over to the sofa. "Sit," he said, "Wait. Let me take the cloak."

"It feels so soft." She ran her hands down the front.

Inside his private rooms, he wouldn't deny himself savoring her beauty. "In here, I plan on enjoying being with you. I want you to be comfortable." He untied the laces. "Unless you'd prefer the cloak."

"No. I don't want to wrinkle it. I'd better take if off."

He removed the long draping material and had to remind himself not to stare. Her slinky dress clung to her curves. Not skintight, but accentuating inch after inch of her gorgeous body in just the right way to make any man sit up and take notice. "Thank God for me," he muttered.

"What did you just say?"

"Good thing I had the sense to give you a cloak. You could easily have this club in an uproar."

"I don't follow." She sat down, and crossed her legs, then reached up, and untied the mask. The hem of her dress hiked upward, displaying a nice stretch of calf and thigh.

_Sweet heaven above._ She was trying to break him.

Tonight her skin shone as though she'd rubbed gold dust on her legs. He considered instituting another rule requiring that she wear jeans. Some type of clothing that would hide her mind-blowing legs. Christ, a pair of chaps came to mind and a line of sweat broke out across his forehead with the vision of her in a pair and nothing else.

Seeing her dress tonight, he was tempted to forget his plan. This white dress didn't scream _Look at me!_ like the red leather number; it whispered seductively, and all the more loudly. Crept under a man's skin until he couldn't look away. Christian stared unblinking at Anastasia dressed like some version of innocence he'd never known with her seductive eyes and a mouth made for sin. She was his heaven and his hell, and so far he'd only kissed her. He reached for the larger of the gift boxes and handed it to her.

"I think this suits you more," he growled, anxious to put his claim on her, even if it was only symbolic.

She smiled and tilted her head; her fingers lifted the lid, and she gasped. "The collar is beautiful. Christian, I can't accept this. It's too expensive." She stroked her finger around the collar and then looked up at him. "I already have the leather one."

"Darlin', it will give me more pleasure than you could imagine seeing _my collar_ around your lovely neck not some generic piece of leather. You already agreed. Are you abandoning your project…your plans?" He'd use whatever means necessary to get her to keep their bargain, even her desire to flee from Paris if it meant she'd submit to him.

She bit her lip and he waited for her response. "You have excellent taste."

"You'll wear it. And not just here. This isn't something you can put on and take off. Not if you want to understand what it means to be a sub." _Dammit! Did she truly understand what he was suggesting?_

She held his gaze. "I have no intention of taking it off."

"Let me collar you then." He took the box from her fingers and came up behind her. "Lift your hair," he said.

His fingers felt heavy on the buckle of the leather band. He carefully removed it from her neck, not at all pleased with the pink stripe that remained on her skin. He tossed the leather band on to the table, then turned his attention to the gift box. His muscles tightened and his heartbeat thudded as he lifted the platinum band and widened its mouth to fit around her neck. A small clasp at the end where two twinkling rubies were located swung down from her neck.

Anastasia released her hair when he let his hands drop to her shoulders, his thumbs caressing the juncture along her neck. "Thank you," she whispered, tentatively touching his fingers.

He walked around and sat next to her on the sofa. "You can either let the chain hang or it can be secured. There's an extension in the case. I'd like to see you in a dress that shows off your back. You'll let me dress you, as well."

"You enjoy doing all this." She searched his face.

"That's part of being a Dom. But then you know that, having researched what a man in my position is capable of. Right?"

She bit her lip and nodded. Reaching up, she touched the collar. "In theory, I do."

With his collar around Anastasia's neck, he wasn't about to let this moment go. "Kiss me."

Same direction and now she knew the rules. He wanted to see what she'd do. She pivoted on her hip and reached for him. Her hand curled around his bicep before gliding up to his shoulder. A current of electricity ran through him. She pulled herself near by hooking her hand around his neck and he felt compelled to bring her closer. Fuck patience.

He pulled her onto his lap, his breath shallower, his pulse faster, and he waited, ready to burst apart. She pressed her mouth to his, her lips soft and parting. Her mouth tasted achingly sweet. He waited, yearning for her tongue, but she pulled back.

The only tongue he got was the vision of her swiping her tongue over her own lips. She slightly sucking on her bottom one before she let her hand drop from his neck, and then she laughed.

He reached up, running his fingers through her hair. "Sugar, you have got me going."

She didn't pull away but gazed back at him, her lids heavy, and there was no need for words. He picked her up and laid her down on the sofa. One chance. That's all he'd give her. "Safe word?" he asked. "I want you. Now. Say it or I'm going to fuck you."

"I remember, and no. I don't want to use it."

"We won't do anything you're not comfortable with." She bit her bottom lip and he groaned.

"You ever take that hat off?" she asked in a sensually husky voice.

"Sometimes," he replied. "Depends what you're offering."

She opened her knees a bit. "You're a Dom. You know exactly what I want."


	3. Collared by Christian Chapter 3

Christian taught Anastasia about a different type of touch, casting away the veils and washing away the walls she erected. By his unflinching ability to dominate her, she came alive, willing to expose something buried, something locked away.

He freed her completely. Finally.

**HOW MUCH OF YOUR HEART DO YOU BARE **

**TO THE MAN WHO CAPTURED**

**YOUR SOUL?**

**Chapter Eight**

From the time she'd entered his club, she swore she could feel Christian's attention on her. As soft as a gentle touch at first, then, when their eyes met, from a faint smolder a fire ignited. Gazing across the room, she felt his power, his hunger, his heat.

If she thought for an instant that she wasn't safe, she would have fled from the S & L and never returned. After talking with Christian, they'd crossed a chasm today, and her intuition whispered she could trust him. As a Dom, he was willing to train her, and she understood his motivation wasn't tied to pain. Oh no. This man sought pleasure; his and strangely hers, seemed to be of equal importance. If she was unsafe, it was from herself in the depth of her desire. His firm touch reflected control and for all the sizzling right reasons. She didn't think Texas a big enough state to escape the way she burned for him or craved his touch.

Tonight when she'd entered and waited for him to cross the corridor, she'd lingered as prey before a predator who swore he'd have her. Not just have her…fuck her. And the way he'd said "fuck her," hard and rough came to mind. One thought plagued her as though the devil's advocate had taken up residence inside her head. _How could she ever know what women felt like with a dominating man if she gave up this one chance to find out?_

All day before arriving at Christian's club she'd engaged in mental chess, presenting arguments, excuses, and threats as to why it was insane to consider Christian's promise; but it was her body that was running this show.

As if he'd known her darkest secrets, Christian took hold of her first with his eyes, then with his hands. She'd ached while walking next to him, and the heat in his eyes when the bartender put down the drink from another member made her body throb greedily.

Now, reclining on the sofa with him staring down at her, she let her legs fall open as she'd yearned to do since the moment they met. She pulled her dress slowly up her thighs. Cool air swirled over her skin, chill bumps spread, but it was the roiling heat of his stare, a thunderclap to her senses, that had her truly shivering and her pulse racing.

Christian placed his hands on her knees and opened her legs wider. "Baby, we're about to break some rules in here tonight. You okay with that idea?"

She swallowed and nodded. "Only some?" she asked.

His hands pressed down on her legs and he let out a mix between a groan and a growl. "Anastasia. You sorely tempt me."

"Please, Sir." She for one was down for breaking the rules. Every last one.

The apprehension she'd allowed to rule her throughout the day disappeared the moment she'd decided she could trust Christian, or at least, his Dom level of expertise. She'd figure something out about what to do with her research project, but right now, she couldn't fight this bone crushing yearning that ripped through her, shredding all thoughts save one. She had to submit to him. The urge had grown out of control, torturing her, until it was all she could think about. All she could taste. When she'd arrived tonight, whether or not she'd mentally articulated the thought, she'd already decided she had to go through this doorway he presented and promised if she was ever to find out who she was and why she had these mind-bending urges for hard sex and submission under the skilled hands of a Dom.

"Do you know what happens when you say your safe word?" he asked, his voice soft and deep.

"All bets are off," she supplied.

Something in her stomach fluttered as his dark blue eyes searched her face for an answer. Perhaps a deeper one. Should she admit to him right now that the idea of walking away from him was ludicrous and her safe word was safely locked away?

"Not a term to toss about lightly. But, you have it if needed." He traced one finger along her leg, spreading a quiver of heat over her skin. "If things get too wild. You can always tell me it's going to yellow or red. As in traffic lights. Then I'll know just how far to take you. Your pleasure is mine. If you thwart me delivering your satisfaction, I won't be pleased."

"Thank you for explaining…Sir." What was it about Christian that made her desire to be possessed bubble, if not burst, into existence? She yearned to hear and feel him command her and without question, already she trusted his ability to deliver what he'd promised.

"The way you say 'Sir' makes me hungry for you."

"I like saying it. To you," she whispered, her legs beginning to tremble. "Please, Sir."

"Anastasia, you're a walking fire starter where I'm concerned." He lifted the hem of her dress, grazing his fingers up her legs and let the material drop and bunch by her hips. "This would be one of _those moments_ when a hat gets in the way, darlin'. I haven't had my hands heated in months." He tossed his Stetson onto the cocktail table.

Did he just suggest what she thought he meant? A ripple of pleasure channeled through her. He bent his head, causing some of his hair to drape over his forehead, and pressed strong yet velvety smooth lips at the inside of her knee. The touch of his mouth made her arch toward him. Damn, she had to learn better control and not be so unsophisticatedly transparent.

"Christian, your hair is amazing." It was true. Thick and dark—the type that was meant to be yanked. She wove her fingers through his hair, raking her nails over his scalp, while relishing his mouth on her legs.

"Let's talk about you. Such beautiful skin. Feels like pure satin."

"Mmm," she moaned, bowing upward from the sofa. The pressure of his hands increased. He spread her legs wider and she opened to him, save a flimsy piece of material separating them. Heat flushed between her legs, going from simmering to crazy-hot. She was ready to combust as his gaze lingered between her legs, and he shifted on the sofa. He planted his palms firmly on her thighs, squeezing and massaging her muscles. Slowly and with the utmost skill, Christian sunk down between her legs, setting her nerves on fire as he grazed her sex with his straining erection.

"Do you want me to fuck you? You'll have to tell me, Anastasia. Or I'll stop and walk you back to the bar." He moved his hands away and she jerked her focus to him.

"Yes, Sir. I want to feel you inside me." Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her body, stretching taut her lust for him, and she tried to remember to breathe.

"Good." He laughed low. "'Cause I need you wrapped around me soon." His hands shifted down between her legs, stroking over the slip of material, and she quivered uncontrollably.

"Christian," she moaned as pulsing waves of pleasure erupted over her body, growing stronger with his caresses and then he stopped. Her body shuddered uncontrollably in need.

"Just one thing," he whispered wickedly. "I'll need those wrists of yours. That is if you want to know what it's like to be a submissive. Do you?" He picked the handcuffs from the table and dangled them in front of her.

Jesus. Did the oxygen suddenly leave this room? Just stop, she told herself. This was hardly the point to get spooked. He held cuffs not coral snake. "I can handle whatever you dish out," she volleyed back.

"Never a doubt, darlin'" His smile deepened as he began rubbing his hands over the metal.

"What are you doing?" she asked, praying her voice didn't crack.

"Warming the metal for you. Cuffs won't hurt as long as you don't pull. If you mare that beautiful skin of yours, I won't be pleased. Now, hold out your wrists to me."

She realized this was a way for him to gauge her need for control. She could have simply told him she relied on control and her need was sky-high in her day-to-day existence. But cuffs during sex with him…this was also a quiz on whether or not she truly trusted him—the man behind the Dom. She's believed she did. Holding out her wrists, she'd soon find out.

He took her wrist and gently locked one cuff, then the other. "You'll follow my directions tonight. Won't you?"

She pulled her wrists apart—or tried to. The bite of metal into her skin reminded her, these cuffs weren't toys. "I don't think I have a choice," she muttered.

"Not true. Anastasia, you have choices." His expression drastically changed. He spread his hands on top of her shoulders, curling his fingers firmly over her flesh. "A Dom is not the only one who has power. Sure, I derive power through control, but in actuality you as my submissive possesses equal if not more. Your safe word is unequivocal in power."

Fully aroused by his forceful words, she nodded. "I understand."

"Lie back and lift your hands over the armrest of the sofa. Lift your knees and open your legs for me."

He helped her recline, but even so she jumped as his hands pushed her dress down her legs again. He caressed the insides of her thighs, dustings kisses against her knees, impossible to remain impassive when his warm lips and fingers were seductive to her senses. His commanded her with his possessive touch and the way his eyes undressed her.

"Christian," she moaned, straining to keep her hands in place over her head.

"Anastasia, focus on my hands, not yours." His finger slid under her panties, the first touch so electric she cried out, rolling her hips toward his touch. He pressed his thumb against her clit and rubbed a slow, teasing circle over her sex.

"Sir." She curled her fingers tightly over the armrest, stifling a loud groan.

He swept the pad of his thumb across her pussy and murmured, "So wet. So damn ready."

"Please," the word hissed sharply on her breath. He snapped his wrist, ripping off her panties and allowing cool air to tickle her damp folds. "Touch me," she begged.

"You don't command this show, baby. I do." He stared into her eyes. His pupils engulfed his sapphire irises and she was captivated by endless black, already aware how easy it could be to get lost in them.

"Yes, Sir," she whispered.

He smiled seductively, then bit down on his lip with straight, white teeth that she hungered to feel nip her skin. Lucky lip, she mused.

"If you ever try to top, I can easily remind you what part you play in our equation. Do you want a sample?" He chuckled as though the answer were obvious.

God, she did, but this was moving way too fast. "No, Sir. I'll remember."

"We'll see," he retorted doubtfully. "You're on edge. Bet I can help with that." He stood and unbuckled his belt, then lowered his zipper and his pants. He kept his eyes on her face yet she couldn't resist the temptation. She dropped her gaze to his hand and didn't shift her focus for a couple of shaky breaths.

"Are you on the pill?" he asked, giving her something to concentrate on.

She glanced up to him. "Yes. I turned in my forms with my membership application."

"I only want to make sure you're not going to get pregnant. The way I want to fuck you, I could easily rip a condom." He pulled out his wallet and removed one.

No mystery that a man in his position would play it safe, then that thought dissolved when he took hold of his erection, his fingers gripping his cock.

"You're huge," she whispered, then tacked on, "You've probably heard that before."

"Baby, nothing to fear. I know what I'm doing." He tossed his wallet onto the cocktail table before he rolled down a sheath of latex and all she could think about was where that monster would possibly fit. "I should take this slow and give you a night to remember, but that's not what you need."

Christian dropped to his knees on the sofa, aligned their bodies, and pushed apart legs. He swiped the head of his cock across her too-sensitive clit.

"Please," she said, lifting her knees. "Sir!" A moan escaped her mouth and she was at his mercy—her desire for him overtaking her senses. A man like Christian was a rarity. God, rarity didn't even cover him or his skills.

"I'm going to fuck you. I mean, really fuck you properly. You need it hard. Rough. Don't you, baby? _My little researcher_."

She licked her lips and shivered. "By all means."

He positioned his cock at her opening, flexed his hips, and grunted. "Damn. You're a little thing."

"Does that mean you won't?" She watched in shock as he backed away from her.

"Hardly. I'm going to have my _velvet cake_ and eat it too." He knelt beside the sofa, pulling her slightly sideways before he bent over her thighs. Watching him part her legs, she sharply inhaled and tensed her stomach muscles. Her exhalations came out in erratic puffs as he lower his shoulders between her thighs. "Open your legs wider for me, sugar."

His jaw scraped across her skin, unleashing a spark of pleasure that spread along her body making her nipples spring into hard peaks. A muscle pulsed at his jaw as he kissed the seam of her pussy, spearing his hot tongue between her lips.

"You're going to make me lose my mind," she whispered.

"Just wait, baby," he retorted. With his torso cradled between her legs, he swiped his tongue over her clit, taking her toward the land of wicked, wild and crazy. "I could eat you all night you taste as sweet as you look."

He pressed his large hands over her abdomen, using his thumbs to spread her folds open to him. She writhed under him with each hard suck he imparted to her clit. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as a shiver shook her body. She fought the urge to tunnel her fingers through his hair. Digging her fingers into the leather of the armrest, she flexed her hips, trying to get closer to his talented tongue between her legs.

"Oh! Please," she breathed out. The suction from his mouth was mind-bending. Tantalized, she rocked against his face, moaning loudly when he drove his tongue into her, commanding her with his mouth. He sucked, flicked, and nipped her, seeming to know exactly what she needed. The edge of a tingling knot began to grow stronger deep within her belly as liquid fire swirled in her veins.

"Love the way feel against my tongue," he rasped and lifted his head, then roughly pushed two fingers into her and she cried out his name. "That's what I want to hear."

Christian began pumping his hand between her legs and she rolled her hips, mesmerized and rocked to the core, growing more and more turned-on each time he sunk his fingers deep within her. He penetrated her with a twist to his piston-perfect fingers, hard and commanding, and she felt herself start to tremble.

"That's it, Anastasia," Christian grunted his approval, pumping faster and deeper until her hips rebounded off the sofa. "Come for me."

Her orgasm unleased and she thrashed against hand. God, she'd never encountered a man who knew what to do with his mouth and fingers. Not like this. He drove his fingers into her, curling and pumping, and dragging his mouth across the skin of her knees and calves and she gasped his name. Not once, but again and again as the blood pounded in her temples and pleasure bloomed, then burst apart between her legs. She came fast and hard and impossibly held on to the armrest with her aching fingers and her heavy arms. Oh, sweet Lord, he didn't stop or slow down and she felt her bones beginning to melt. She pressed her face against her arm as he stroked his fingers through her dampness, separating her lips, and thrusting three fingers into her.

"We're not done. Come for me again, baby." He plunged three fingers into her, stretching her to her limit, and at the same time, he pressed his thumb down on her clit. His head dipped and she felt him suck on the skin between her thighs, close to her pussy. His hot breath swam over her slickness. He kept thrusting without mercy until her nipples tightened into painful peaks as the bands of muscle in her legs contracted, making her curl her toes.

"Christian. Sir!" she yelled, unbelieving that he could make her come again so fast. This time her orgasm ripped through her with a mind-bending euphoria that dissolved her defenses. The world fell away and she closed her eyes, riding the wave of pleasure, clenching around his magical fingers.

"Anastasia, I want your attention. That's how this has to go." His husky voice reached inside her and she opened her eyes, meeting his commanding gaze.

"You have it, Sir." She longed to stroke her hand down the side of his face.

"Anastasia, you're irresistible. More than I imagined." He rearranged her hips down on the sofa. His lifted to his feet, his hard-on hugging his belly and she inhaled, her breasts swelling and her chest tightening.

He parted her legs and moved in between her thighs. Christian wrapped his hand around his cock, sliding his crown into where she was hot, swollen, and still needy. Her whole body clenched. Electrical mini-explosions detonated in anticipation as he gripped her thighs, driving himself farther but not all the way. He hauled her hips up him, and his body tightened for a second before he flexed his hips, using a rocking motion to draw back and hover. Then without warning, he drove his cock inside her, demolishing her breath with dizzying pleasure. His broad shoulders bunched as though he were holding back for her sake.

"Need to hear the words," he groaned. "Tell me what you want."

_ Dear. Lord._ She was hardly capable of thought and he commanded her to speak. She licked her lips, and reached out to him. "Please. Fuck. Me."

"Anastasia, drop those hands or I'll stop this and spank your ass if that's what you need." He held her gaze and nodded when she complied, then let go a power-thrusting of his body as he hauled her hips up on to him. "God! You feel so good."

She whimpered from having her folds stretched and the sensation of being filled from the inside out with his cock. Moaning, she let go a rasp of need and hunger and he ran his hands over her ass, cupping her and drawing her closer to him.

"Yes, Christian. More!" She arched against him, rolling her hips, and couldn't believe she actually tried to get more of him inside her. Closer. Closer. Closer, her body pleaded. The intense feeling of Christian both inside and above her shattered into separate parts: pain, pleasure, ache, hunger, and an impossible desire for more. Only one thing would bind the pieces together—his ability to dominate her. "Please," she begged.

"Baby, I'm going to take you over the edge. Tell me if I'm too rough."

"Okay." She pushed down on his cock, slippery between her legs and for a second his eyes flared open.

"Sweet Jesus," he groaned. Again she clenched around him, flexing her hips, and it seemed to unleash something wild in him. "You asked for it."

His hands released her hips and he bent closer over her body. The weight of him on top kept her from thrashing. She didn't understand the why of the warning he gave her until he slammed his body between her legs, sliding his cock deep, then he slammed deeper still. He hauled his hips back one more time, slamming deepest. Once he'd found how far he could go, he returned over and over, driving himself into her. One of his hands fisted her hair while the other held onto her upper thigh. A grip so tight she was certain he'd leave bruises, and she didn't care. She wanted to have something to remember.

With his mouth, tongue and teeth, he took possession of her. He sucked the skin along her neck and then moved to her lips. Biting, sucking, and licking until she called out his name. He taught her without words to do as he commanded. She learned how to kiss him back, how to move under him, squeezing his cock with her pussy, and swaying her hips. They spoke a language with their gazes, breaths, and bodies. He entered her faster, and then pulled out to hover at her opening, his shaft wet and glistening from her juices, the veins swollen along his length.

"This is what you do to me." Then he drove himself back into her, a slam of hips against her thighs.

The sight his straining erection unleased a craving to taste his cock, suck him into her mouth. "Again," she demanded, all thoughts coming unhinged except for one. "Fuck me hard."

"You're amazing," he growled. "I think I could get lost with you for a week and want more." His thrusts punctuated each word.

In response, she curled her fingers into fists, pressing her nails into her skin, battling the urge to run her hands over the hard dips and contours stretching his shirt, wishing she could feel his skin. "That's. It!"

Christian arched upward, the movement caught her off guard and she bit down on her lip. His deep pumping thrusts unraveled her with each slide against her clit. And he did it again, masterfully. The bliss that began as a whisper now howled like a hurricane, shaking her muscles. Tremors spread across her body, a rush of heat, a body slam that had her falling. She and Christian were still clothed, but it felt as though she'd never been more naked.

In that moment, in that room, on that sofa, Christian owned her. At the edge, she let go and let him take her completely.

Oh God, her body wasn't her own—it was too late to recant—and she splintered apart. They spoke with grunts, pants, and sighs between the slapping of skin against skin until there was no need for anything more as total sensation took over, drowning her volition. Her orgasm exploded, crashing and cascading and then sweeping her into another realm. He pulled her to him and she couldn't control the way her hips slammed back against his, savagely wanting all of him.

"Spread your legs wider. That's it." Christian reached for the armrest, his finger grazing over her wrists and instinctively she reached out to him. "Keep your hands right where they are."

He took hold of the sofa, rocking his hips into her; the tempo hard, fast, and he moved so violently something splintered above her head. The sofa was coming apart under them and he didn't stop and she didn't care. He lifted up, slightly on his knees and kept fucking her. Hard. Hard. Hard.

"Anastasia…" His voice was hoarse and low, his body strained like a wire tightly wound, and then a spasm rippled through him, vibrating over her belly. He thrust inside her, and still he shuddered again.

He slowed, lowering his body, his cock pulsing inside her, and pressed his face against her neck. "Darlin'. That was…you're incredible."

"Christian," she whispered, exhausted and smiling under his fingers feathering across her cheeks. He lifted his face, shifted an inch or two, and kissed her.

His words rang out inside her mind,_ "Baby, we're about to break some rules in here tonight."_ He never said anything about walls.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Next week, Christian's POV and it's about to get hot in here! No turning back.**

**THIS FAN FICTION STORY is published as Collared by the Cowboy featuring Brandon McLemore and Mia Santero.**

**Collared reached a rank of #1 Western BDSM Erotica Best Seller on Amazon as well as in the category of Erotica BDSM Suspense. **

**Collared is part of the Bad Boys series and Rose to #1 BDSM Western in March 2014. If you are interested in reading the whole story, let me know. I'll send you a copy in exchange for a fair review. Thank you!**

**This story supports RAINN. Sales go to RAINNmaker by Susan Arden**

Warning: This is an explicit, graphic story containing strong language, BDSM, pot smoking, and violence. EROTIC SUSPENSE FOR ADULTS ONLY


	4. Collared by Christian Chapter 4

Chapter Nine

Christian drove his cock deeper inside Anastasia's heat, giving into the urge to remain buried within this woman. That's not what he'd planned. Sure—wished, dreamed, fantasized, but not planned. Right now, he better come up with some sort of plan or they'd be on this sofa all night. Anastasia was so tight, his balls ached to fuck her all over again. But that's not what she was here for.

"How'd I do, Sir?"

"You were amazing. Damn, more than that." He glanced at the cuffs on her wrists and pressed his mouth to her lips for a solitary kiss. He wanted to keep her here with him and toyed with the idea of taking her to his bedroom. He traced her mouth with his thumb. "Baby, I guess I have to take you back, don't I?"

"I suppose," she asked, her eyes softly lit. "Now, may I touch you?"

"As much as you'd like. By nature, I don't have a boundaries issue." Truthfully, she was the first woman he desired to have run her hands freely over him. And yet, he refrained from removing the cuffs if it meant she'd be free to leave. Why did she provoke this response?

"What about these?" she lifted her wrists.

"Not just yet," he said, staring down her.

"I see," she whispered.

She touched his hair by lifting her arms Her hips flexed and she clenched around cock. Pulsations that drove him to the brink of lifting her up and off the sofa and onto the floor. To take her from behind with her ability to squeeze the thoughts out of his head…the idea had him hard again and he rocked his hips once to feel her pussy pull on his dick.

"Whatever you're thinking, it must be pretty damn hot. Tell me," she whispered.

"Shit," he groaned. "I want you in so many ways. This isn't how a Dom normally responds to a sub. It's a bad example for your research."

"Damn shame," she moaned, raking her nails down his back.

Anastasia pressed her mouth to his neck, sliding her warm lips up his skin then bit down. His skin shrank and muscles contracted under an electrical burst jacking up his spine. The pain came on the cusp of an orgasm that he still hadn't touched down from.

"You're one hell of a spitfire." Inside the hot recesses of her pussy, his hard-on throbbed for relief. He could pull out, or fuck her again. As if that was even a choice. He pumped his hips in half-strokes, searching for the spot that made her whimper.

"Liar, liar pants on fire." Anastasia clenched so hard around him he saw stars. "That's not what you were thinking."

"You want details?"

"Since you're rock-hard and about to fuck me again…yes. Absolutely." She arched a brow. "That's what I'm about, and you said I could ask questions."

He inhaled. "I'd like to take you from behind."

"You mean you standing behind me?" Her voice rose with a note of excitement.

"Yes or on the floor and kneeling. Draped over the sofa. That would work. Come to think of it, the table is definitely a possibility. It's how I almost fucked you in the hall when you had me crazy out of my mind."

"Is that how you like to have your subs? From behind?" She glanced down.

God, he sure as shit wanted _her_ that way, but she was asking more. He stopped moving and lifted her chin. "I'm only thinking of you. And it's because of your ass. It's perfect. And I want to control you while I drive my cock inside your hot pussy. But that's only one position of many we're going to try. It was a spur of the moment image and with you…I have had a few."

She was running her hands over his back and suddenly stopped "You think of me? When we're apart?" She held his gaze, waiting for his response.

"That's a no brainer. Yes." He cocked at eyebrow. "Haven't you thought about me fucking you?"

"I…" she stalled. A rush of color suffused her cheeks as she broke eye contact and looked down.

"Yes?" He picked up her hand and kissed her palm, then ran his tongue to the tip of her finger and lightly bit. He kept track of her eyes and where she focused. Looking down, not great if he wanted to hear the truth. Slowly he sucked her finger into his mouth and imagined how it would be to suck on her clit again as she came against his mouth. His cock jerked. She squeezed her muscles around his shaft and both of them remained silent. Her eyes lifted toward the ceiling. Now, we're getting somewhere, he thought.

"I used my vibrator and thought of you," she whispered. "You're a force I can't seem to escape."

He pumped so his cock skimmed farther inside her. "Then we share the same reaction to each other. Good thing we're going to explore it together."

She shivered. "Together?" she repeated, digging her fingers into his skin.

"I'd hate to get you hot and bothered and send you into the arms of another man." He held still, wanting to hear what she'd say to that.

"That's funny. You're a Dom. Aren't you supposed to fuck the women who come looking for domination and send them on their way?"

"I'm not a service provider, if that's your question. There are plenty of studs here. They're located down on the other hall. But that's not a place to go and stand around, unless you're there to take part."

She plucked a button on his shirt. "So with this collar, I'm yours. The expectation is that I'll only fuck you."

That's exactly what he craved. Only him between her thighs. Shit, he'd be gone, and he considered making the drive back during the week. He twirled a strand of her midnight hair around his finger. "Yep. All mine until you say stop."

"And you? You're not wearing a collar. You have this private room. Can you invite anyone here?"

"I'm not going to. To be honest, I haven't used this room in months. Do you want me to? Is that something you're into for this project?" He uncurled her inky strand, then reached around her thigh and lifted her leg, giving him better access. Slowly, he flexed his hips back, drawing his length from her and relishing the way her lashes fluttered.

"I don't understand why you didn't use this room." The muscles along her neck contracted. "What happened?" she whispered, writhing under him.

Without warning, his body tensed. His crown was at her entrance. She had to feel he'd stalled. "I was in a relationship with a woman who worked here. I thought it was what I wanted. Turns out it wasn't anything but an illusion. I lost interest in the lifestyle and stepped away from this hall…this room."

"And now?"

"Now…" He slammed his hips, driving his cock deep inside her. "I'm ready to get back in the saddle." For a second, they gazed at one another. God, he wanted to fuck her until she came undone under him again. Feel her beating heart chest to chest, the pulse in her neck against his mouth as he sucked on her skin. Skin…they still had their clothes on and he hungered to have his skin rubbing against her. "Anastasia, I want all of you. I think you feel the same way about me."

One side of her lips quirked up. "Going back to the question. Other women? Do you do… men?"

"I'm not thinking about other women right now." He laughed, gripping her by the hips and thrust his cock into her pussy, moving at a languid pace, proving he was in control. "I'm not into men. I don't do threesomes. I don't share. To me you're going to be sacred. My one and only submissive. Feel better?"

"Only one." She snorted. "That's a contradiction, considering where we are. People in rooms, in the hall, and you're not Mother Theresa. Just how is that supposed to work, Mr. Sex Club Owner?"

He arched a brow. "I can see we've got some work cut out for us where you're concerned." Christian traced her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "Your mouth needs to be fucked."

"We signed an agreement. I can ask my questions. Unless you think we should do this over coffee, fully dressed." Anastasia squeezed his cock, securing his full attention.

"Tone, darlin'. Step lightly," he warned, fully enjoying the rush of color spreading over her cheeks as his hellcat riled under him. His eyes swept over her cuffed wrists as he ground his hips between her legs.

"I'm here for answers," she flung back, swiveling her hips.

With fire in her eyes the little minx issued a dare, and stilled as though waiting for his response. Christian lifted her leg, gliding his fingers along her satin skin under her dress, and fought the urge to turn her over his knee, and spank the sass out of her.

"Taking all your clothes off would be a better means to get to the root of your desire to learn. When it comes right down to jumping into the lifestyle, what you need is to be spanked. Until you are, none of this will make sense. I'm going to fuck you, take you back to the bar, and later, we'll drop in on a private viewing. I'll show you what I intend to do. I won't have you agreeing without seeing. I want you to come back to me fully prepared for your little research project. Are you free tomorrow?" he asked.

Her eyes became widely naïve. "What type of spanking?"

"Maybe the better question you should be asking is why," he returned, smiling at her reaction.

"Oh, I get the why. An adrenaline rush categorically forged within an erotic arousal lifts your so-called _sacred submissive_ into an endorphin-laced realm of pure pleasure. I've studied the physiology even though I don't have the practical experience." She arched her brow and curled one side of her beautiful mouth. "I'm also aware there's a big _if_."

He stared back into her eyes, trying to see past this tough veneer she wore like some medal she'd earned. He buried his amusement with a dry retort, "I'm dying to know. What's the if?"

She returned his cocky attitude one better. "_If _the spanking isdelivered by skilled Dom. One who carefully crafts control over the entire experience…from start to finish. I've heard it's a freaking hormonal head rush. The ultimate natural high. Any idiot would buy a ticket on that train. But I still want to know what type of spanking."

Hand to God! This woman pushed his last button in the most tantalizing of ways, and it was his turn to push hers as the man who would teach her about this lifestyle. The more she refused to yield, the more he hungered for to her bend—not break, but to submit. If there was a natural drug being offered up, it was her withholding from him.

"The kind I'll deliver to your bare ass," he kept his voice low, refusing to soften and allow her an ounce of power-tripping control just yet.

"But—"

"That's enough for now, my little researcher," he murmured, spreading his fingers over the curl of her hips. He'd deliver alright if she was willing, and in doing so he began ratcheting up the tension. "Anastasia, don't push me. I'm more than skilled in giving you what you deserve and need."

He watched her pupils enlarge and her skin flush. She studied him for a second or two as the gears turned in that mind of hers. Finally, she mumbled a stodgy, "Yes, Sir."

He surged forward inside her, then suddenly flexed his hips, delivering a forceful thrust into her pussy. She stopped speaking and stared back at him with a mixture of wild defiance as though she was unsure which direction to take. Yes, she was more than ready, and he'd never had the need to push if not eradicate the rules. She definitely upped the ante in him reining in control.

He bent his head and crushed his mouth down on hers, driving his tongue into her hot, snappy mouth. His cock jerked, he was that close to the point of no return. "Let me hear the words," he whispered harshly against her quivering lips.

She wiggled under him, and he inwardly groaned at the tight clutch of her surrounding his dick. "Please fuck me, Sir. Harder than before," she growled in a strained voice.

He straightened his arms, arching upward and hovering over Anastasia. His balls tightened as he fought to gain control with each swivel of her incredible hips. Another squeeze of her pussy and he'd come unhinged. He placed one foot on the floor, then reached down, and hauled her off the sofa.

"Wrap your legs around me. I'm not fully limiting your hands this time. You earned some freedom, wildcat," he growled. Without coming out of her, he took her to the table, and laid her down. He lifted her legs, and stared at his straining cock engulfed in her satin heat. Pink and swollen and wrapped tightly around him. "Fuck," he snarled.

"See something you like?" she taunted him. "I mean, Sir?"

"Baby, you have no idea how much." Leaning between the valley of her thighs and sliding his dick into her so fucking deep, he lifted her legs and placed them over his shoulders.

She looked so wild and in need of taming. He ran his hands over the soft material of her dress, hooking his hands on top of her shoulders. The muscles over his body contracted into a slow burn—shit, he was at the edge. If he held out more than a few strokes, he'd be amazed.

"Fast and hard," he bit out, leaning over her body, and savoring the wild feel of her squeezing him without mercy. She was asking for it but good.

"Yes, Sir." She bit the center of her bottom lip and ground her ass against him. "Do. It."

Christian inhaled her scent that hit him right between the eyes. Rocking his body back a few inches, he was about to regain control of this fucking show. Real fast. He plunged his cock into her and the hitch of her breath had him returning to do it again. Each time he drove himself into her, he rolled his hips just to see her eyelids drop and flutter.

He bent his head close to her ear. "I want you to wait. Don't come. Hold out."

She moaned her response and he moved one of his hands between their bodies and pinched her swollen clit. His cock juddered—ready to explode—but this he did for her. He circled her pert nub with his finger, slick from her juices, and groaned to himself.

She whimpered, first softly then louder, her breath coming out a hoarse gasp. "Please Christian. Please."

"That's it. I want you coming all over my dick."

He couldn't hold back and clasped her thighs, curling his fingers around her trembling legs, unable to stop from ramming himself into her again and again, then again. His raging orgasm released from his crown in a blinding rush and he shuddered, calling out her name with each jerk from his dick and balls. Sweat trickled down his face and neck, droplets spilling down his chest and into his shirt.

"Come here," she said, holding out her bound wrists.

He lowered her legs, and curled his torso over her, careful not to wipe his sweaty body on her. It didn't seem to matter. She hooked her wrists around his neck and pressed her tits to his chest and her mouth to his. Firm but not demanding, she licked around his lips, then stopped. She drew his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking sweetly, and he held her face between his hands, on the verge of groaning her name.

She smiled up at him. "You taste so good. Makes me want to suck your dick. Promise me, soon."

"Baby." His body shuddered and he laughed, then he wondered aloud, "You sure know what to say. How much of this is your project and you playing a part?"

Anastasia ran her fingers through his hair and sighed. "Cowboy, let's just say, you sure know what to do. It's getting harder to distinguish when we're wrapped around each other. I want to know what a sub goes through and you've definitely opened my eyes."

"Have you ever been with a man who dominated you completely?"

"Not like you, and not in any real manner." Her nostrils flared.

"I want to know specifics. Just like you. The details."

"This will cost you," she replied. "You answer a question and I'll answer one."

"Never easy with you." He dragged his mouth over her jaw. "Ask away."

"Were you in love with your last lover? I imagine she was a submissive. I'm interested in knowing if that's in your repertoire as a Dom and the man who runs a club."

Shit, how to answer that? He gazed into Anastasia's dark eyes, which threatened to hold him captive.

"At the time, I thought I loved her. Afterwards, I realized I wasn't in love with her. I was on an adrenaline high like you talked of. Getting this club up and running. Finally feeling free, like I could be who I was without restraints. But she left, and the rush died. I don't miss either the high or the woman."

"Okay," she said slowly. "I think I get that. Your turn."

"I'm curious about your experience in being spanked."

"That doesn't sound like a specific question."

"Hold on. Give me a second." He wrapped his hand in her hair. The way her black silk wrapped around his palm, he forgot his train of thought for moment. "How turned on did you get from having your bottom spanked?"

"Not at all." Her brows cinched together. "I didn't. It wasn't sexually provocative. I wanted the man to stop."

"Another question," he said, then just asked. "Do you trust me to take care of your needs?"

"From what I have seen…yes. Without question."

WALKING down the hall with Anastasia, he stopped, and gently pushed her into an alcove. He cupped her chin. "I want you. In your research and the other night, you saw members engage in sex. Are you up for that type of thing?"

"Is this a test?" she asked, her face tensing under his fingers.

Felt like it to him. But he wasn't about to be a fool and admit to feeling way too driven this early on or that the screws were uncomfortably turning. No argument, he wanted too much from Anastasia. Instead of being appeased by mind-altering sex, he wanted more. This was treading unfamiliar territory and required some breaking of their forward momentum. In getting so close, he'd unwittingly let her inside his skin.

Now, he needed to take a step back, and he'd let her decide which direction to take. Another route he'd never permitted with a sub. Ever.

"You're here to learn about the lifestyle but this isn't just some project. I'd bet my last dime, your untapped sub is dying to be set free."

"And we'd do that by letting others see you fuck me?" Her body stiffened. "Do you get off on people watching you up close?"

Tension built between them, requiring him to be on top of his domination game. He massaged his hands over her shoulders and neck, untangling her tight muscles as he considered how to be truthful without giving away the farm.

"Fact is if we did, it would be the first time I'd fuck a woman in front of others in that same room. Sure, people have watched with plate glass between me and them. But damn, you make me want to do things. Wild things, I haven't done before. I'm not saying public sex is something I'm into. Just asking at this point. Would you let me take you in front of a roomful of people?"

Her breathing came in shallow puffs. "I don't know."

"How serious you are about being a sub. Are you playing a part for your project, or do you really want to know if this is your nature? You'd be wearing a mask, and we could do it in a room with a select number of people maybe in another club. Say Austin or Dallas. I'm only asking you because it's part of this sexual package we've agreed to. I'm being upfront this isn't my hot fantasy…this is yours that I promised to deliver."

He'd opened the proverbial door, stepped over the threshold, and now he wanted to kick the fucking door closed. He couldn't tell her that she out-and-out pushed him, but letting another man or group of men witness her being fucked—his gut churned at the idea.

If she let herself be publicly taken, the act might give him some distance and stop his being so hot and bothered with this caveman thing he had going on with her. Torrentially bad this soon in hooking up, and they had months to go. Already, he knew without a doubt he'd be impossible to deal with when she graduated. She would leave and if he had blinders on, then he was the jackass.

His words reverberated inside his head. _"Baby, we're about to break some rules in here tonight."_ If he wasn't careful, it would be a heart as well.

"I want to know what it is that you want versus what it is that you need. I get a sense that you're a sub to the bone and if I spread those pussy lips of yours, I bet you're getting wet thinking about me spreading you in front of an audience and fucking you hard."

"I thought you weren't into sharing."

"Who said anything about sharing? No one—" He wove his hand in her hair and tugged gently. "Will touch you. Ever. There's no wiggle room on that. It's my cock fucking you."

Her chest rose and fell as if she'd run a race and her pupils were large, making her eyes appear luminous, deep pools without end. "It is a turn on. But I'd have to think about it."

That meant yes in his book. She was playing with fire. Each time she stepped closer to him, he was falling more and more under her spell. Did she know how she affected him? They were skating on a razor edge. Each step closer he let her approach him, he felt the magnetism between them grow and his natural inclination was to repel away from her. Impossible, though; it only made the ricochet reaction that much stronger. He stepped back. If he didn't, they'd be walking back to his room and this time he'd rip the clothes from her back. "We'd better go find that bottle of wine. I could use a glass."

She smiled with her eyes wide behind her mask. Her nipples were pressing points into her dress. He pulled the edges of the cape together. "Tonight we'll see Penrose in action. His specialty is flogging and his sub has been quite the pistol lately."

"Your partner has a girlfriend who he publicly disciplines?"

He tapped Anastasia on the nose. "Alex is his sub. No one said anything about girlfriend. And yes the reason for the season. A private room and only a few spectators. But she'll get what she needs. A chance for you to see the various sides of a sub and the person who takes care of her."

She reached out and tucked her hand around his arm and he flexed against her fingers. "I don't want to miss it, then."

**THIS FAN FICTION STORY is published as Collared by the Cowboy featuring Brandon McLemore and Mia Santero.**

**Collared reached a rank of #1 Western BDSM Erotica Best Seller on Amazon as well as in the category of Erotica BDSM Suspense. **

**Collared is part of the Bad Boys series and Rose to #1 BDSM Western in March 2014. If you are interested in reading the whole story, let me know. I'll send you a copy in exchange for a fair review. Thank you!**


	5. Collared by Christian Chapter 5

**COLLARED BY THE COWBOY **

**Chapter Eleven**

at first, he had intended to take Anastasia to his room downstairs. Hard to do with the attention of everyone in the club potentially focused on them. He wasn't about to put her in that position. Not yet. They needed to discuss what she'd do when she returned to the S & L next time without him. And then there was the issue of her hunger. Easier to focus on getting her fed. He never imagined just sitting and eating could feel that good or have him this off-his-rocker aroused.

"You up here?" Penrose yelled.

Christian gritted his teeth as he and Anastasia gazed into each other's eyes, his finger deep inside her warm pussy. Did she know how perfect she felt or looked? He stopped finger fucking her and pressed a kiss to her parted lips, whispering, "Hold that thought."

"Yeah." He called out, covering Anastasia's knees with her dress. "In here."

He had been so close to hauling her off that counter and into his bedroom that now his pulse pounded in his head.

Anastasia's eyes were wide and she looked much too vulnerable. His chest constricted without warning. Drawn to reconnect with her, he leaned over and kissed her on the mouth again, brushing her hair from her face as he waited for Pen to appear. One day soon, he fully intended on addressing his partner's idiot timing.

"Need you—" The man burst into the doorway, then stepped back. He'd never seen Pen stumble over himself. "Holy shit…I mean, smokes. Excuse me."

Pen stared at him, then glanced at Anastasia, nodding an acknowledgement, then swung his attention back to him.

"What's up?" Christian retorted dryly. "You needed something?"

His partner still seemed lost in thought. "There's a…matter downstairs. Needs your attention. Marty didn't know where you were and he came to my room."

For Pen to have stopped taking care of his sub's needs it had to be pretty serious, and then one awful possibility permeated Christian's thoughts. "Does this have anything to do with a membership we spoke about?"

"Bingo." Pen's face blanked.

_Shit!_ A poker face on Penrose meant trouble. Twin trouble, he'd bet. "I'll be right there. Go back to what you were doing."

"You sure?" Pen asked.

"I can handle this issue. Now that we've spoken and are on the same page."

"Well then, have at it. Anastasia." Pen smiled at her, then turned and to exit the kitchen. Over his shoulder he finished with, "Catch you both on the flipside."

Christian rubbed his hands over her dress, squeezing the sides of her thighs. Her knees were together, and she had to feel as half-insane as he did. In short order, she'd know the sting of erotic pleasure he could offer her. She was untouched. A virgin so to speak and his sensual appetite spiked.

He craved nothing more than introducing Anastasia to the art of spanking, then fucking her until the sky dissolved into the early morning. Tonight he planned on taking his sweet time with her. Didn't matter if he had to work on no sleep; he hungered for her, and the sooner he took care of this incessant hankering, the sooner he'd be done with a mind-altering distraction in the form of a hot-bodied woman who wouldn't quit tormenting his imagination.

"Baby, this won't take but a few minutes." He wound his fingers around her arms and pulled her to him.

"I'm a big girl."

He closed the distance between their bodies and brushed his mouth over Anastasia's sweet lips. "I'll be right back. Can you spend the night? I'm heading out tomorrow morning…I want you to stay with me."

"Sure. I have class but not until the afternoon."

Her agreement was all he needed to hear. Fucckkk! His dick stood up and saluted. He stepped back before he lost his head and inhaled at the sight of her on his counter.

"Good. Make yourself at home." He lifted her down and pressed his hips against hers unable to resist her. "As in, get naked and be in my bed when I get back."

She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Come back to me, cowboy."

With her suggestive words ringing in his head, he descended the stairs and made his way to the front. Marty met him right outside his office.

"What in the name of hell is going on?" Christian snapped.

Marty jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the office behind him. "I didn't know what to do. _They were outside_."

He stared at the man as though he'd gone bonkers. "That was the plan. Want to explain how—or rather, _who_ let them inside?"

Marty stared back at him, his mouth moving but nothing really meaningful came out except a hoarse, "Aw, shit. They're a mess."

"Not good enough, Marty." Christian wasn't about to wait around another second. He'd have those girls on the other side of the entrance doorway and then he and Marty would have one hell of _a come to Jesus_ conversation.

He barged into the membership office and demanded, "What do you think you're doing?"

Selma and Esme turned around, half-stumbling and giggling. Holy shit! They were a mess. He'd never seen them this unruly. Make-up smudged and their clothes dirty, if not ripped in a couple of places.

"Hey, Bran-don." One of the girls hiccupped.

"God damn," he mumbled, backing out of the office. "Marty!"

"I tried to tell you…" Marty said.

He inhaled and tried to understand what the possible options were here. He swung around and came face to face with Anastasia. Her eyes were wide and she backed up to the hallway wall. "Marty, hold down the fort for second." He marched over to her. "Where are you going?"

"Um. I just wanted to get my bag. From the car."

He nodded, raking his fingers through his hair. "I have a slight problem that needs my attention."

She tilted her head and looked around his shoulder. "Those two girls?"

"Yeah. They're in a bad way. I can't just throw them out, much as I'd like to." Those twins needed a babysitter and he wasn't it.

"They look like they're strung out."

"Drunk as skunks," he muttered. "They aren't members. Never have been. Never will be."

She grabbed his arm and squeezed. "Those girls don't look like they're just inebriated. Do you mind?" she asked, studying the occupants of the office behind him, and was already opening her purse and removing an eyeglass case. "Can you hold my purse?"

Without waiting for him to respond, Anastasia thrust her purse into his hands before she untied her mask and gave that to him as well. She slipped on a pair of glasses, giving him a vision of the sexiest office pinup he'd ever seen. His eyes widened. The level of torture she'd been capable of where he was concerned just tripled.

They stood in the hall, Anastasia with her glasses on while their bodies remained only inches apart, and he stifled a groan. "Fine. Yes. I could use the help."

"I won't make this a bigger issue." She walked with sure confidence into the office, leaving him in the hallway holding her purse and her mask.

"Good evening," she said, nodding to Marty and then to the girls.

The twins had trouble standing. "Hey," one of them said.

"You need a place to lie down. Don't you?" Anastasia asked, sounding professional yet achingly concerned. The sound of her voice tugged at him.

Jesus. He considered these girls and the problem they represented, going from irritating to bigger in circumference—annoyingly so. Wait, did Anastasia just say something about lying down? He closed his eyes. Big got bigger. He shook his head in her direction, and of course she ignored him.

"Seriously," one of them whined.

"I'm Anastasia," she said and held out her hand.

He expected some bullshit, cocky remark from the twins, but they both grabbed for Anastasia's hand like it was a lifeline being cast out to them within a churning sea and they were drowning. Hell, maybe they were.

One of the girls jerked her thumb backwards. "I'm Selma. She's Esme."

"We're twins," Esme offered.

Anastasia smiled and nodded, guiding them to chairs. "I thought you were sisters."

Esme hiccupped. "Sorry."

"Cover your mouth," Marty muttered.

Anastasia arched a brow at Marty. "May I speak with them alone?"

"I don't think—" Christian began, but at Anastasia's vexed expression he relented and nodded his agreement. "Sure. I'll be right outside."

Marty turned to the twins. "Don't you offer up any of your sass. Hear me?"

"Yes, Mr. Keller," they slurred in unison.

"Who is she?" Marty whispered when he came out into the hall, glancing momentarily at the purse in Christian's hand.

"A friend," he replied cautiously, standing ramrod straight.

"Whoever she is, she got those girls somewhat in line." Marty snuck a glance inside the office. "Smart thinking, having a woman talk to them. Is she some kind of social worker?"

"Not exactly."

Marty grimaced. "Those girls have hit rock bottom."

"I don't know," Christian leaned a shoulder against the wall. "Unfortunately, I have seen worse. But I agree, where these two are headed is no place good."

"One of the men working security in the back said they're the newest act at the Gentleman's Club."

He turned his stunned gaze on Marty. "Not the dive down the street?"

"The very one. Heard they have been there a few weeks."

"I don't believe it. They're barely drinking age! Is that even legal?" He knew the answer; he just couldn't get the idea to take root in his dazed mind. He'd known girls from his hometown to end up in all sorts of jobs and professions, but not one had become a stripper. Until now.

"Christian," Anastasia's soft voice stirred him from shock.

He crossed the hall. "What's the decision?"

"Can they stay in one of the rooms here? Until the morning?"

"Them?" Christian snorted and she nodded. "Sleep here. C'mon, that's not possible."

"They need to sleep it off. I don't think they're going to cause much of a ruckus," she said.

He turned his attention to the office. The twins were slumped together with their heads on each other's shoulder.

"Only because you asked," he muttered, already seeing that he was buying into a shitload of problems. "I'll make the arrangements, _if_ we've got a room. Give me your keys. Tell me what you need from your car."

"I can get my own things, thank you." She reached for her purse and mask and he held them an arm's length away from her outstretched hands.

He arched a brow, delivering a quelling glance, and leaned closer to Anastasia, his mouth right next to her ear. "Sugar," he drawled. "Are you back talking me?"

She bit down on the middle of her bottom lip for beat, then replied, "No, Sir."

God, if she only knew how ramped up she'd gotten him. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think about the issue—strike that—the problem on his doorstep.

"We'll get these young ladies situated and then _I'll _get your things." He handed Anastasia her purse and mask, then stepped over to speak with Marty. "Go make a visual sweep of the bar area and hosts, check on things. If everything else is running smoothly, we'll need one or two staff to watch these girls. Scout down Trent or Beth and give them a heads up. They're needed and can keep one eye peeled on these two."

"I'm on it." Marty took off down the hall.

"Shall I stay with the girls and get them settled?" Anastasia asked.

"Good idea. We can divide and conquer." Christian removed his cellphone and dialed the check-in for the private hall. "Let me find out if we've got a room." Things were jumping tonight. If they had a room it would be a miracle.

He listened to one of the hall hosts confirm every room was booked and there was a wait list. Shit, not a room available until next weekend. "Thanks," he muttered and hung up.

"What?" she asked.

"Another problem. No rooms. We're booked."

"Not every room is occupied." She smiled sweetly at him, and traced a finger down his arm.

In a heartbeat he got her meaning. Muscles all over his body contracted. "Oh, no!"

"Please, Christian, they need a place to sleep this off. If they leave here, I can't promise you'll see them again for a long time." Her full, pink lips beckoned him. No way could he deny Anastasia anything at this point.

"That's a bit dramatic," he countered, but removed his keys as he spoke.

Her face turned serious. "They'll end up at some crack house, or worse. They're a click away from some pimp getting hold of them and then it's basically over for them. It's that serious."

The harsh scenario coming from her beautiful mouth was incomprehensible. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"They've got a pipe and some crystal meth. They showed me. Offered some to me."

"Dammit. _God_ damn it!" He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The drugs go. And the paraphernalia, too. For you, I'm agreeing to this." He lifted his head and met her gaze, shaking his head.

She squeezed his hand. "You're a good guy."

"No, I'm not. I'm selfish."

Marty returned and stopped at the doorway. "Everything is running smoothly. What next?"

He motioned to Marty. "Call for security to help. I want them moved as unobtrusively as possible."

"We can take the front stairs and come down in the back, circle around. The front can hold entrances, and we can have staff delay anyone leaving from the main room with a diversion. Trent can talk a person's head off."

"Arrange it and don't leave those two for a second. I'm going down to my room. They can sleep on the sofa. Anastasia, you come with me." He pressed his fingers to her lower back through the cape.

"Do you have some spare blankets and pillows?" she asked.

"In the storage room. Good idea." He guided her through the hallway. "Take a right up ahead."

They made it halfway down the hall without a word while his thoughts spun in different directions. "How come you know so much about women in this condition?" he finally asked.

Anastasia side-glanced him. "In my graduate program we're required to do over five-hundred hours of community service, plus several internships. I already completed two of them including patient diagnosis and delivering therapy. I was over in the women's shelter off Park Street and a private rehab center, not far from here. I'm hoping that the treatment center where I have a women's group will have space available for the girls."

"Slow down. Turn right here." They came to the doorway of the club storage room and he knew he had to broach this subject. "This isn't the first time those two have had an issue with addiction."

"No?" she asked.

He shrugged, opening the storage room door. "I should have done something sooner. Maybe gone to their father."

"Hey, wait a second," she said, taking hold of his arm and squeezing. "Addiction isn't something that gets solved overnight. It involves those girls' lives and those of the people around them…their family and friends have to help in recovery. I wasn't under the impression you're friends with them."

"Not friends," he said slowly. "And I have not slept with either of them, so don't ask."

"Where's this guilt coming from?"

"My little sister—the one in college. Well, they all went to school together. Those girls have had this fixation on me for a while, and it's been intolerable lately."

"But not always. Say, when it was just a schoolgirl crush."

He cursed under his breath. "I didn't stop them. Hell, I don't think I really gave them much mind. Who does when you're in college? They were kids, not part of my circle of friends. But I moved on, grew up. They didn't."

"They're confused, if that makes a difference. Looking for help in inappropriate ways are sometimes a last resort," Anastasia offered.

"Last year, I was visiting a local watering hole and they showed up, not that I gave them the time of day. They got into trouble. Wrecked their car and damaged several in the parking lot. Mine included. They ended up in rehab during the summer rather than jail. I was called as a witness. It was a total clusterfuck with their father trying to convince me it was a one-time thing and they were changing. He's a minister, and it was more like his attempt to avoid having his precious Riverdale Methodist Church tarnished."

"Riverdale Methodist?" she asked.

"It's a big church…over off Loquat."

"I'm somewhat acquainted." Her voice came out in tight clip.

"Damn. Please don't tell me that's your church."

He watched Anastasia take a breath followed by locking her jaw. She all too seriously scrutinized the front of his shirt as he waited for her to speak.

"No. It's one of the places where the country clubbers go. Everyone knows that. I suppose it's small-minded to be judgmental." Finally, she lifted her eyes to him.

You're here with Jamison's daughters. It's only natural to form some judgments."

"If you say so," she said, turning away. He watched her walk into the storage closet and wondered about her sudden shift in mood.

After retrieving blankets, pillows and bottles of water, they went to his private room downstairs and quietly made up the sofa bed.

"There," he said, still observing Anastasia and her thoughtful mood.

He wouldn't prod her and crossed to the bedroom doorway and locked the doors. For all practical purposes, the living room area resembled a hotel room. He'd have Beth or Trent keep watch. Anastasia stood next to the bed and smiled at him. He wasn't fully prepared for the effect of his desire to throw her down on the sofa bed. "What should happen tomorrow?" he asked, mindful that any second his staff would be coming through the door.

"They need help. If they've been in rehab, it'll be easier to get them back in since they've a patient history if insurance was filed. I can help. It's not hard as long as the treatment center has the beds available. Kinda like here. If not…the girls are in a fragile state. If not the center, then maybe a drug center, but I don't think they'd stay. Girls like this need to detox, counseling and a therapy plan. Otherwise, they'll return to the streets, run and do whatever it takes to get the drugs."

A short knock on the door sounded and it swung open, revealing Marty and two burly security guards ushering the girls into the room. Anastasia approached the men and motioned to the sofa.

"Come in Esme and Selma. This is where you're going to sleep. Okay?" Anastasia went over to the twins.

The girls nodded, hardly even looking around the room. One yawned and they walked with Anastasia. She spoke in a low whisper, giving the girls a rundown on the plan, and saying, not once but several times, not to leave. They nodded as their eyelids drooped.

He joined Marty off to the side and lowered his voice. "Make certain they don't leave."

"No problem. I took their keys." Marty's smug smile stretched across his face.

"What about the drugs and crap they had in their purses?" Christian asked.

"Gone. Beth searched their pockets and they had some cash, but nothing else. Should we cuff them?" Marty asked, rubbing his face.

"Forget it. Just watch." He frowned, glancing over to the girls. "I'm not about to give these two anything to discuss about being here. Anything other than sleep has _bad_ _news_ written all over it."

Marty shook his head unapologetically. "You said to stop them from leaving. They've got feet."

He looked down at the two girls as Anastasia was tucking them in. "Take their shoes. If they leave, it will slow them down. I doubt they'd take off barefoot in the snow."

"Okay. Sounds good. I'll put everything—minus the drugs—in a plastic bag in my office."

Christian met Anastasia's glance, her slightly arched brow, and he stilled. The edges of her cloak came apart while she was lifting the blanket. With her arms in front of her, arranging the covers, she had no idea how she captivated him. He jerked his chin toward the door with his best _Let's go_ look.

She smiled, then folded down the sheet under Esme's or Selma's chin. He still didn't know them apart. He'd never been one to pace, but he was getting damn near that point. He registered that one of the security guards was telling him something. _What was the man saying?_ Then Anastasia came into focus in front of him, and he trained his attention on her, vaguely waving to others leaving the room.

"You've done all you can," he said, tugging on her arm.

She pulled on the neck of her cloak, adjusting the folds. "I guess."

At the end of the hall, he held out his hand. "Give me your keys." She mumbled something under her breath. "Care to elaborate?" he asked, his nerves pulled past the snapping point.

"Wouldn't you like that?" she murmured with a little too much spunk.

"Not as much as you," he retorted. "You're in deep already." God, he felt like there weren't enough hours left tonight for what he needed with her. And her smirking at him further incited his craving for her.

"I have the goods. I'm not worried." Her voice reflected the same overconfidence he'd expected from her.

Damn, she was begging to be spanked and his hunger to deliver skyrocketed. Anastasia's spunkiness turned him inside out with a crazed lust crawling under his skin, fueled by her pink lips. In a matter of minutes, his craving to spank her and fuck her would be an out of control firestorm. Tonight he'd show her in no uncertain terms who owned her—body, mind, and especially her sassy mouth, if she kept this up.

"You do remember that you're the one wearing the collar. Right?"

Only then did her cocky smile falter, but in a flash her eyes regained their usual glitter overlaid with a veil of pride. Anastasia was his personal Mount Kilimanjaro. He wasn't certain if the veneer she'd taken to wearing was done out of habit or just around him, but he'd soon find out. He had plans on getting her to lay aside any need to hide herself in his company. He wanted to discover and get to know the real Anastasia. The woman behind the researcher.

"Cowboy, why don't you remind me?" Anastasia swept the tip of her tongue over her lips, making them glisten with a trail of moisture that he could almost feel on the head of his shaft. She shifted on her feet, notching up her chin, and throwing back her shoulders.

Talk about throwing down a sexy gauntlet.

"Oh darlin'," he smiled tightly, his cock responding to her on so many levels. "Come with me."

ANASTACIA crossed her arms over chest and shook her stubborn head, scattering her black mane of hair over her shoulders.

"Hard-line? To take off your dress?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, Sir. Red light. Hard-line. Too many people coming and going. What if the girls need me?"

"I need you," he growled, unbuttoning his shirt and staring down at her as she hiked up her dress over her gorgeous legs.

"Hard. Line," she said fiercely.

"Fine." His cock twitched at her ability to play hardball. "Let's get one thing perfectly clear. I'll install a lock on that outer door by next week and then this is a clothes-free zone. Would that work?" When she smiled, teasing him with her dimples, he forgot the issue at hand.

"You give a little, and I will too. Deal!" She flashed him a peace sign.

"You sure are something," he said, picking up the flogger and placing it in her hands. "Questions?"

Anastasia came up onto her knees next to him and asked, "Like the one Pen used? But different." She tilted her head, curling her fingers around the handle.

"This one is brand new. _Ours._ We'll need more tools, but this is a good beginning to introduce you to kink and sex toys."

"The other one was made from hair. Horsehair?"

"Keen eye, darlin'. There are different types. I intend on taking you shopping and we'll explore your edge together."

She smiled and slapped the leather across her palm, shrugging. "I can take it."

_Oh his little researcher_. He bit back a smile, when she extended the flogger. "We're going to start slow. Get you used to the feel of being spanked. You're being disciplined but I also want you to get off. Sometimes, I'll withhold from you, Anastasia, but not tonight."

He tossed the flogger down on the bed, biting at the bit to tap Anastasia's submissive soul. He rubbed his hand down from her shoulder and settled his palm on the curve of her hip. He squeezed her body, still clothed. She watched him, her chest rising and falling like the sea battling a storm—for her it would be a storm brewing because of fear.

He couldn't wait to get her across his lap, her ass exposed to him, but first and foremost, he desired to assail her anxiety. He relished being the man to introduce her to this type of domination, but it was also bittersweet. "Tell me what you're thinking?"

"I don't know what to expect. This is all brand new."

"In a little while you won't be able to say you're a virgin to kink anymore. Will you?"

"No, Sir," she whispered so softly, he almost didn't hear her.

"As the dominant, my job is to protect you," he said, massaging his hands on her thigh. "And you have made that especially difficult with your impulsiveness. Do you agree?"

He mentally reviewed the list. She'd balked at his desire to retrieve her bag from her car while she waited inside…warm and cozy. She just had to make certain that he didn't accidentally lose one of her folders. That cost her. Then when she'd refused to walk alongside him, heading out the back exit on a whim and nearly slipping on the ice; another ten smacks were added. By the time they'd gotten upstairs, his breath was frozen in his chest, and his need to hear back-to-back apologies from her luscious lips rode rough on him.

"Because I have brain in my head," she retorted, much too quickly for his taste and he frowned.

"You're one naughty filly who needs a firm hand," he replied, regarding Anastasia next him on the bed. "Lift your dress. Turn around!"

He removed his shirt and belt and sat on the edge of the mattress, riled up to the max, and not certain if he could hold out long enough to spank her ass. Not one day in his life had a filly or a woman gotten him so worked up. He didn't know if he was coming or going.

Anastasia lifted her dress, revealing a tiny thong of lace that peeked out along the seam of her incredible ass.

"You changed?" Lust bloomed in his body, skittering jolts of excitement all over his body.

"You ripped my other one. I bought these in the store downstairs."

"I'll make certain you have an account there, as well," he groaned. She was so beautiful and so freaking smart, it tore into his ability to concentrate on getting his head together about how he'd deliver her training. As a Dom, he wielded more than a whip or flogger, he delivered control, and the subs he'd serviced in the past had trusted him and also understood, what he offered came with no strings. Nothing beyond a one-night adventure. With Anastasia, he skated an edge wanting to give her what she needed and wary that she'd take too much. He stood, not happy that her hands were free to touch him and drive him to the brink.

"I'm going to bind your wrists together like before. One smart aleck word, and I'll throw in a blindfold."

She nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Time to learn what to say after you count." He lifted her chin until her eyes met his. "Just. Like. This. Say, 'Thank you, Sir.'"

"Thank you, Sir," she repeated cautiously.

He didn't smile—on the outside. He kept his face impassive. Tension brewed inside the bedroom and his body. She stood between his legs, tempting him to pull her up against him and kiss her sassy mouth into submission. Like this she appeared a mixture of sexy and angelic, dressed in white and calling him 'Sir,' that one word coming from her rose-colored mouth had him chafing in his own skin.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her, on edge to hear the right words.

Anastasia lifted her eyes to him. "Yes, Sir."

His heartbeat thudded faster as he placed his hands on either side of her wrists. "Who do you belong to tonight?" Anastasia's hair fell over her shoulder, a veil along her face. Goddamn, she was mind-blowing him. He brushed it back, tucking a few strands behind her ear. "Answer me, baby."

"You, Sir. All to you."

He traced her lips with the pad of his thumb. She'd said the words; soon she'd understand—if she didn't already—what that entailed.

He thought better of keeping anything in the dark. "We've gone over a safe word and I want you to be clear on our roles. My job is to push you. To know what your limits are, even if you may not. If you trust me, then let me do my job. What are your hard limits…besides that dress?"

Anastasia smoothed her hands over the material along her hips, and he reminded himself to focus on her message coming from her mouth, not the one emanating from her body.

"The standard. I read the list the club gives out. Besides those, I think we already agreed that I'm up in the air about public scenes. But inside your bedroom, between you and me, I'm open." Then she quickly added, "Sir."

Her voice pitched in a husky range, rolled over his skin, igniting his blood, and he reached for his glass of water, knowing the futility of relieving the slow burn spreading through his body. "You still get to ask questions. Coming from a psychological perspective, you understand that talking and honesty are important if this is going to work."

"I understand, Sir." She held his gaze, pride burning brighter in her dark eyes now than before. From a spark, her eyes held a firestorm ready to burst. All he had to do was get her to the edge.

_Oh, before the fall. _For all her sir-calling ways, her pride was larger than Texas, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing and simultaneously groaning.

Chapter Twelve

"Kiss me," Christian growled softly. This was his test and Anastasia understood why he commanded her. Something that could be casual between two people, was taking on more and more meaning—at least for her. A road sign that between them intimacy bloomed…or deepened. Rapidly, and if she didn't find the means to control her feelings, she'd be in trouble. They'd agreed this was temporary, and a man such as Christian was hardly the type to seek one woman for long. Clue number one: pointless to own and run a club like this, and she'd better wake up and smell the coffee.

"With pleasure, Sir." She offered him her mouth, and quivered when their lips touched. God, he tasted so incredible. Oh God, she prayed.

Her lips were a barometer of her internal landscape, the same as her words and ability to be articulate when she was upset. No small wonder Christian had absorbed that fact about her. She leaned into the kiss. She'd wanted to brush, tease, and then devour his mouth, but she couldn't. Her nerves were stretched into stiff wires ready to fray. Inhaling Christian's scent, a cross between leather and fresh hay, maybe the tang of the ocean, she rubbed her cheek against his, her fingers curling snug on his forearm that he tightly flexed.

He groaned. "Jesus."

"How was that?" Her voice came out a rasp, her mind whirling, and they gazed at one another for several seconds, a raging desire to fuse their mouths swimming between them.

"Enough to send us over the edge. Wouldn't you say?" He pressed his lips together.

"Way over. Sir." Her breasts swelled, making the tips peak and ache for relief. All from one kiss. _Wake up!_ The siren sounded again.

Well, no wonder. Christian, the man who represented sex in cowboy boots, had her in his bed. An inner voice kept up a stream of dirty suggestions and heated images of him spanking her, pulling her hair, and commanding her. The theory of sexual discipline and interplay between a couple, she'd digested thanks to him. On the fly, she could now write a research paper on the subject of being tempted to engage in spanking.

The issue was the practical. With Christian's hands on her body, tying her wrists, she had a choice to make: trust him, or not, as this would be another doorway they'd cross. One marked intimate and explosive.

"Hold out your hands," he said, picking up what looked like a black silk tie.

"Is that…yours?"

"Yes. Never used it like this before. Don't enjoy wearing a tie, but this one I just might after tonight."

His fingers on her skin brooked her body's response. The coiling in her belly swirled and between her legs pulsed with the sliding sound of him lashing his tie, while pulling one end with his teeth to tighten the knot. She stared at the clove hitch around her wrists. "Skilled at tie-down roping. Rodeo?" she asked.

"Some. Not exactly two wraps and hooey. But it'll do. Ranching skills have their uses…in the bedroom. Later, I want to hear how you know so much about roping," he replied, massaging his hands up her arms, then back down again.

Roping, tie-downs, lassoing weren't on the same playing field when she thought of what she knew about rodeo and what she knew about being a woman who voluntarily submitted to an overpowering man. This wasn't something she could do halfway, not if she wanted to know what a sub experienced and why a woman would want to submit to a man who, like Christian, believed he owned her. In her mind, it had all come down to the woman losing her free will.

If she tempered her desire to fully submit to Christian, then he'd never own her lock, stock, and one opinionated barrel. It wasn't a mystery that as her Dom, he wanted her to yield. She just couldn't let go and let him in, not with the price being her will. Her identity.

She wasn't some plaything for men to use and then toss away. Somehow, she had to find the elusive place where she'd be able to balance the equation of trusting him without giving in to him completely. Her position was frigging tenuous at best.

He released her bound wrists. "Nervous?" he asked.

She pressed her lips together, refusing to acknowledge the bereft effect that his sudden disconnect had on her. Her eyelashes fluttered; she couldn't just be one more quaking sub in front of him. "Not in the least."

"Be honest with me," he said, taking hold of her again. "It's what you expect of me."

"Uh." She mentally stumbled while his acumen glinted from his eyes and the heat from his hands warmed her skin. "A bit. Without experience…"

"Yes?" He studied her for a beat or two. "What I'm going to do is structured discipline. This isn't your call, so worrying is useless. If you have to be the one to make decisions, then the stress is on you. But not tonight, and you're always a word away from stopping anything you're uncomfortable with."

"How will you know if I can stand more?" She scanned his face, looking for reassurance.

"You have red and yellow. I doubt you'll need them." Christian gently tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. "Baby, our bodies are roadmaps. I'm confident I can read yours."

"Mighty confident," she murmured.

He'd already demonstrated his expertise and insight into her. No matter, for a moment his arrogance chafed her. She lifted her arms as though by instinct, covering her chest.

Immediately, his gaze sharpened. "Hands down, Anastasia."

She released a murmur of frustration in her throat as his large, capable hands guided her body down and across his lap. He moved her arms out in front of her shoulders, draping them over his legs, and her fingertips grazed the floor. He lifted her dress, baring her bottom. All at once, he pulled up the slip of material between her cheeks and rubbed his finger down through her dampness.

"Oh. God!" She arched upward.

"Steady, Anastasia. Trust me. This is about control as much as it is about honesty. You're wet and excited." His hand guided her down again, removing her thong as he held her over his legs. Then Christian expertly delved his fingers between her legs, and instinctively she clenched from the pleasure. She wanted to give in, but she couldn't be this needy. "Relax for me, baby."

Her mind raced, along with her breath and overloaded senses. It was true. Excitement, fire, and her desire to do what Christian commanded awoke the same desire he'd crafted in her earlier, only now it went from blooming to damn near exploding. His husky voice dripped seductively into her mind.

"Please," she breathed. "I want more."

"But that's not what you need at this moment." He drew her cheeks apart and blew across her skin, making chill bumps rush to the surface of her bottom. She jerked; the space between her legs swelled from her unrequited lust, coupled with being pushed to the brink and the need to have him touch her again.

"Why are you drawing this out when I'm so on edge?" she demanded, bowing upward and attempting to see his expression.

His eyes turned to her and she gasped. His pupils were fully dilated. "Last time. Stay still. I remind you, Anastasia, that isn't a direction with latitude. It's a directive that will be enforced."

"As in positive or negative reinforcement." Her psychology training flared to the forefront, but this wasn't a mental match where he'd let her get the upper hand using psycho-babble. She flinched when his hand pressed between her legs, drawing up and touching her in a place she'd never agreed to share with anyone. "That might be a hard limit."

With one hand, he continued to probe her bottom, swiping his finger over her crevice, and gently fingering her. "Your ass is so tempting."

"Sir, please," she said in a strangled voice, flexing her hips. Then he moved his other hand from her shoulder to her face and stroked his thumb across her bottom lip.

"You have a safe word."

"I'm not ready to use it…Sir."

"Just give into sensation. That's all I want you to do. Close your eyes."

She felt a wisp of something smooth. Soft. Fragile.

"Open your eyes," he said.

She bit her lip and met Christian's gaze. He swiped a feather along her skin. A long, black feather. She smiled and stroked the feather with her fingertips. He grazed it arduously along her body, separating the silky plumes like the teeth of a comb across her skin and she moaned in pleasure. Her heartbeat thundered and she heard the pitter-patter of it in her ears like rain on windowpanes, but no rain fell.

He inhaled. "We'll begin. I want you to take a breath and trust me."

"Yes, Sir." She closed her eyes, focused on the sensations of the room. The hardness of his legs pressing into her belly. His masculine scent swam in her mind until she felt the first stroke. A feather-soft stroke. The leather strands of the flogger traced her backside. Christian's gift to her—one she'd always remember.

Then the strands grazed down her thighs. Again the leather cords teased over her hip, cheek, and thigh before Christian stopped. She felt the leather strands lift and tease the other side of her body and she couldn't help shuddering.

"Sir," she moaned, pushing up her hips.

"Ssshhh. Just feel what I'm doing." His deep voice rolled over her skin as he repeated the rhythmic stroking of leather down the other side of her body.

She rocked her hips against his hand and over his legs. "That feels so good," she moaned, opening her eyes and inhaling. Glancing up and over her shoulder, she met his piercing eyes.

"You'll count out each flick delivered. Counting will help you breath and deal with the sensations. We'll start with the first set of twenty. You'll count backwards. If you do what you're supposed, no more spanks will get tacked on. Don't tempt me to up the count tonight, darlin'. We'll begin with an apology for disregarding my directions."

_An apology!_ She gritted her teeth and inhaled, shifting on his lap, and huffed out, "I'm sorry."

"Alright, I can see you're going to hardheaded." His hand came down with a sharp smack, delivering a sizzling snap. "Anastasia, you can do better."

For a moment, she couldn't. Breathing required all her concentration. Her skin prickled with tiny dots of perspiration.

"Well?" he asked, his deep voice a warm caress over her back.

She laced her fingers together and squeezed. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't listen. In the parking lot. Several times, actually. I almost fell and you were just trying to keep me safe. I'm sorry, Sir.

Christian rubbed his hand over her ass, his thumb swiping down and between her thighs. One light tease and she spread her legs, craving he'd do more.

"Time to begin," he said ever so calmly.

A sharp slice swished through the air before her brain could process the sound as delivering discomfort. Searing stripes of pain stung her backside, flaring brightly in her mind. She reared her head upward just as Christian's hand came down, pressing her shoulders. The leather strands of the flogger radiated with a bite across her skin, far different from his slapping sting of his hand.

"Damn!" she yipped.

"Count and breathe." He leaned into her waist, his hand massaging the skin over her ass. Her attention divided into the categories of pleasure and pain and didn't know what to focus on. She inhaled—or tried to make sense of the idea to breathe. The slice of pain dissipated, not completely but enough so that she tuned into something as easy as inhaling to find a place to ground. "Anastasia, I'm waiting," Christian's voice commanded her attention.

His fingers remained poised at the space between her thighs and she moaned. "Twenty. Thank you, Sir."

"Baby, those words sound perfect coming from your mouth," he said, running his skilled fingers across her sex.

Oh Lord! She pushed her hips in the direction of his teasing fingers and he chuckled, pinching her clit. "Please, Sir," she whispered.

"Ready for more it seems," he murmured. "Remember to count, darlin'."

Her body clenched in frustration—in craving the temptation he offered.

"Yes, Sir." This time she listened carefully for anything that remotely resembled a swishing sound. She caught the whoosh and tensed her body. Bright flash to her mind. This time the pain bit into her skin, skittered to her core, and she scrunched her eyes shut. A cork in an ocean of glittery, jagged sensation. Red-hot-poker-pain stabbed her ass and shot through her veins.

"Anastasia. You will count for me. We will get through this. I will fuck you. Now focus on my directions." The quiet commanding tenor of Christian's voice caught her and held her focus. "Count."

"Sorry," she mumbled with her eyes still closed. "Nineteen. Thank you, Sir."

Unrelenting, he used the flogger on her other side in a twice-on-each-side pattern. Again, the swish and swat landed and she managed to count without freaking the hell out. "Fifteen. Thank you, Sir."

"You're doing fine," he said in a low pitch. "Open your legs for me."

"Yes, Sir." It wasn't any easier now. Really, her skin burned from his dead aim. Each time he swung the flogger, he hit the same spot and her body convulsed into a tight plank. But each time she did her part, he rewarded her with his fingers and a delicious tease. "Oh please," she moaned, stretching her legs.

"That's it, baby. Open those lovely thighs wider. You're wet and so beautiful like this." His fingers spread her arousal in a tight circle around her clit, touching and tormenting her until she couldn't think straight. This time he had her jerking in tight bounces until her hips jackknifed above his lap. She hungered for the next swat, arching up her ass, and silently groaning her plea for more. More. More. Until he changed the strength of his spank.

"Ow!" Her ass cheek burned worse than before. "What was that?" she snarled.

"That's not counting," he reminded her in his steely Dominant voice.

She curled her fingers into fists, inhaling a serrated breath until the sting subsided. "Fourteen. Thank you, Sir." Pinpricks of perspiration broke out along her temples. Three more swishes and her voice quavered during each count. Not once did Christian relent in his force and she sure as heck wasn't going to beg. "Eleven. Thank you, Sir."

If anything, the smacks seemed more intense with each one delivered. Scorching came to mind. The scalded skin over her butt stung as though she now sported a third-degree sunburn.

God bless! They were only half done. She inhaled, trying to find the place within herself where she could find relief.

"You're doing incredible, Anastasia." Christian's rich drawl filled her like a summer rain. "No tears or begging. So strong."

"Thank you, Sir." Her voice wavered as her body and mind spun. Inhaling deeply, she glanced around this side of his bedroom, bringing up her shaking hands to brush back her hair. She'd been so wrapped up in manning her personal pain booth, the world didn't matter.

She caught sight of Christian's reflection in the mirror over the bureau and her body spread over his lap, his commanding expression, the silver chain and medallion swinging over his pecs, the flexing of his shoulder muscles…she could have watched him for hours. He lifted his arm, unleashing a sharp swoosh, and all her good ideas evaporated. He must have decided she could stand more heat because this time he brought the flogger down and the swish snapped like a cat-o-nine-tails on her ass cheek.

Tears prickled behind her lids.

"Ten. Thank you, Sir." Her voice came out a hoarse whisper. She was so close to sobbing, pushed to the limit. _Red velvet_. Should she say it? Or simply red…yellow. _No! No! No!_

"Do you want me to stop?" Christian asked, his voice coming out a low rasp.

She couldn't meet his eyes, afraid he'd read her thoughts. "Please, Sir. Continue," she whispered.

"You have the means to let me know—

"No, Sir. I'm fine," she said, then echoed. "Fine."

"Baby…," he said as though he might continue speaking. He didn't. Instead, he used the flogger without mercy—or that's what it felt like to her—and she swallowed the whimper on the tip of her tongue coupled with a plea to stop. She counted on cue, breathing in deeply as a hazy hum filtered through her awareness.

Once more, he sliced the air with the flogger and down it came. Her body became a tight vessel of total sensation. She tried to think a coherent thought and her brain refused. A sparkly sheen surrounded her mind and she hiked her hips as though instinct had taken over. She wriggled as the space between her legs swelled and pulsed—more as she concentrated on the soothing, husky sounds Christian made as he spanked, then massaged her bottom and thighs. She lived for the emotive tracing of her sex, the separating of her lips, his drawing a trail around her entrance, and massaging her clit. He worked her into a frenzy until she sensed, climbing higher and higher, the tendrils an impeding endorphin rush.

The leather strips came down and she counted, "Six. Thank you, Sir." Her voice sounded breathy to her ears. She felt the sting but now it came coupled with a frisson of excitement as though she were at the threshold of something mind-bending—something ethereal. Each swat coiled low in her belly. Bursts of pleasure released when the flogger connected with her skin.

"Please," escaped from her mouth. "Oh, Christian." This wasn't the sexy _Please!_ begging him to fuck her. This was the encompassing _Thank you for knowing me better than I know myself_ acknowledgement. His hand came down, the leather flayed across her bottom and a mind-blowing buzz consumed her to the brim.

"Five," She counted, biting her bottom lip in sounding out the number and finished with a whispered, "Thank you, Sir."

The burning over her butt evolved from hot and bothered in to a deeper state of erotic arousal. She swayed her hips and rubbed her breasts across Christian's muscular thighs.

"Baby, hold still." He used the flogger, changing sides, and she inhaled as though prompted. "You're breathing. Doing wonderful."

"Four. Thank you, Sir." She drifted off, fantasizing and barely conscious of how she pushed her hips high, high into the air seeking his hand after two pleasure bearing smacks.

Each second wore into her like a scrape of coarse sandpaper. Gradually, the numbers begin to dwindle and it was just she and Christian. She tried to remain perfectly still. She heard only the swishing of the flogger lifted in her Dom's hand and she suspected there was another part of this erotic adventure he'd like to teach her. Tantalizing her at every opportunity.

"Anastasia," Christian raised his voice. "Last one. I want to hear you count it. Loud."

The intense smack came, sending a thousand electrical zings along her nerve endings. She arched as erotic ache and primal hunger converged. No longer pain driven, she groaned on the cusp of shattering. She needed Christian now!

She bit back a moan, rocking her hips against his legs. "One. Thank you, Sir." Her arousal flared and she exhaled, giving in to his gentle hands hauling her upright onto his lap.

"Come, Anastasia. God, you floor me." He buried his head against her neck and growled seductively, "Baby, you're more than captivating and now you're mine."

"Christian," she whispered, leaning against him. Her hands felt numb and she could hardly think as he lifted her off his lap and moved her to the center of the bed. He turned her over on her side, lifting her dress up her waist, and she noticed the sound of a bottle being squeezed. She flinched, swinging her head toward him. "What are you doing?"

"Aloe vera," he said, rubbing the gel between his palms. "This will help."

His warm hands spread tingling coolness over her skin. She arched, giving into his erotic massage as he stroked her bottom, then moved his fingers between her legs.

"Feels sensation," she murmured, rocking her hips.

Turning her over so that she was flat against the mattress, he caged her between his palms, staring down into her face. "You get to pick the position."

"Like this, Sir." She tugged at her dress with her bound wrists, and opened her legs wide for him to see the condition that he'd delivered her into—hot, wet, bothered…and oh-so-ready for him.

He met her eyes with a fierce expression and a muscle throbbed along his jaw. "Raise your arms and keep them above your head. No moving them unless directed."

"Yes, Sir." She hooked her fingers under his headboard and her body started to tremble under his watchful eyes. _Oh. God._ She was so close to bursting into flames.

Without speaking, he lowered his zipper and pushed his jeans down his hips. His swollen cock glistened at the tip and appeared forged in steel. He climbed between her legs, sinking his hips down while fisting his hard-on, then hoisted her knee, wrapping her leg around his waist. His crown rimmed her entrance and he reached down, cupping her stinging ass cheek.

"Your ass is beautiful. So damn tempting, painted pink." She whimpered as he pushed forward an inch. There was nothing gentle in the way he hauled her up to him. "Got to get inside you. Now."

Christian savagely slammed his cock deep inside her. She inhaled, feeling the sting of him stretching her folds when he didn't hold back, and the hot spark of sharp pleasure erupted deep in her belly. He buried his cock to the hilt inside her, returning deep and deeper with each hammered thrust he supplied. He delivered as he'd promised, pivoting his hips, fucking her hard and rough, and it was perfect.

"I'm so close," she groaned. The coil inside her belly heated into a flame, then without warning unraveled. She yelled his name with her hoarse voice. The sound of skin slapping skin filled his bedroom as he bucked against her, forcing the ache within her to fully splinter, and she came apart under him.

"That's it. Anastasia, no holding back." He thrust into her farther and farther, grabbing her by the hair at her nape, and plunging into her like he never intended on stopping.

The roiling within her belly swirled wildly each time his cock rubbed against her swollen clit. She gripped the wood between her fingers as the pressure returned, another wave more like a tsunami built within her body, growing stronger and stronger. He hauled her hips up to him in rhythm with his ramming cock. He ground himself harder and deeper, having located her secret spot.

"Again. Oh, please again, Christian," she pleaded. She took what he had to give and held onto to him, calling his name over and over.

"That's it. So fucking good." He tugged her arms higher above her head, pumping his hips as he kept his thighs aligned with her ass. "Say it! My name on your beautiful lips."

"Christian, I'm coming apart," she moaned.

"You're so hot. So wet." His hands encircled her bound wrists, stretching her body tight. "That's it. Come apart for me. I want to feel you come all around me."

"Christian." She exhaled, riding the head rush, ready to fall without heed. The coiling pressure in her belly spiraled, discharging bursts of mind-blowing pleasure in every conceivable direction within her body. She encircled her legs around Christian's waist, flexing her hips, and wildly wrapped around and rode his cock.

"Oh, sugar." He dragged his mouth over her jaw, turning up the force of his body-jarring rhythm of slamming his cock in and out of her.

"More," she pleaded and he laughed, sliding into her with a powerful slam.

"You sure? Talk dirty and I just might."

"Give it to me, cowboy." She dug her heels against his ass cheeks. "Fuck me, stud. Hard."

Christian no longer held back in pumping his hips, driving her to the edge. First ripples of pleasure ran through her, then building, building, building into thundering waves of euphoria that spread like wildfire. She splintered apart as she'd never done before and rode the intensity of his slams and the ecstasy of the orgasm he'd unleashed within her. Violently, she trembled underneath him as the pleasure storm erupted and then exploded. She arched in his hands, almost impossible to keep her fingers off his as she held onto the headboard, feeling the edge of the board press into her hand. He held her, never letting go, if anything, he thrust deeper, harder. He guided her in an erotic dance, a fluid melding of their bodies where she could hardly discern the place her skin, her breath, her heartbeat ended and the points where his began.

"Fuck, Ana. You're exquisite," he said hoarsely, planting a kiss on her lips. He lifted her leg, twisting his torso to slide inside her at a sharper angle, thrusting roughly as he scraped his teeth on her neck, sucking on a point then lightly biting down, whispering, "Mine."

_God!_ He had her rolling her hips, trying to guide him deeper as though she could force him further inside her body which had turned into a raging sea. Filled with too many categories of confusion to count, she blinked back the stinging in her eyes.

Shit, she would not end up crying! "Please. Take me over the edge."

"Ow, baby!" he yelled, savagely slamming and shuddering. His muscles tensed, looking more than ripped and she clenched, squeezing him. "So, so good," he groaned against her face in a low voice.

She felt his fingers graze across her cheek to catch her falling tear. "Christian," she said in low voice. "Babe."

Another shudder and he whispered, "Anastasia. My baby."

CHRISTIAN'S voice came out low, a whispered caress. "Kiss me."

Straddling his hips, she stared down at him lying on the pillows, his hands guiding her hips as he held himself embedded inside her.

"So demanding," she teased, scraping her nails against his skin.

He'd asked her to kiss him in the same way he'd repeatedly done since they'd met. Running her fingers through her hair, she twisted the strands and flipped the thick cord over her shoulder as he watched and the sexiest grin quirked his mouth. She lowered her body and pressed her mouth to his: warm, velvet, and inviting. Slightly parting her lips, she sighed before pulling back.

Hesitating in rising, she stopped and held his gaze, absorbing the heat swimming in his eyes. Her palms held flush to his chest, where his heart thudded in strong beats against her skin.

"More," she murmured.

"Much more," he concurred.

Slowly and deliberately, she returned to his mouth, pressing her lips back to his, a sensual coalesce, and lightly sucked on his bottom lip. Mmm, no one kissed like this man and she gave up fighting. She fused her mouth fully to his, a slight sweep of her tongue, spearing his mouth. Tasting him. Remembering him. Falling for him. _Fast._

_Oh, God!_ She tensed. Gotta pull back before it was too late. Her heart pounded out a warning: get a grip. Control! Where the hell had hers gone?

Playing it cool, she ended the kiss with a throaty, "You sure know how to fuck a girl." She traced her fingertips over his forehead, tangling his hair, and biting back saying more.

"Just so happens, my cock thinks you're the girl to fuck," he replied, turning her so that she tumbled. He pushed her against the pillow, so rapidly the breath puffed from her lips on a laugh. "Don't hold back on me, sugar. Ever," he demanded.

Jesus. What was he asking…surely not all the freaking way? She had to hide her feelings and did so with a roll of her eyes. "That's a tall order. You know I'm a busy woman."

"Really. Need some convincing?" Curling his torso over hers, Christian held her by the wrists he'd only recently untied. "What will you do while I'm gone?" he asked.

"Not much changes in my world. School. School. School. And you?"

She didn't know all the details, just the bare facts about him. His personal life was his to share or not. Prying wasn't supposed to be part of this gig, though her mind kept coming up with a zillion questions. She entertained and asked only the questions pertinent to her study of mind-altering sex. With him as her partner, she gotten hours of hands-on experience. They'd fucked again, not stopping to take off their clothing, or at least she hadn't. His position at the club made her wary that at any moment someone might pop upstairs with an emergency message about the twins.

He lifted her leg, positioning her calf along the side of his body, and met her eyes with a serious gaze. "I want to see you during the week."

A thrill jetted over her skin, making her clench, and she shivered. Groaning, Christian ran his hands up her arms, rubbing his palms over the chill bumps that erupted. She turned her head, glancing out the window and scanned the skies now streaked with silver.

He'd unlocked another door by talking about the future. If his intent equated to an open invitation for fucking, she'd jump at the chance. A tiny—no, make that huge—part of her became giddy at the thought of him coming back during the week. _Not professional, Anastasia._ This was sex. Somewhere, somehow, a rift had developed within her—a gulf existed between what she should be thinking and doing. She _should_ be striving for a selective disconnect where she told herself, _this is nothing but sexual research. _Yet deep down, she'd started to feel...more.

That was the quandary. She'd tried in vain to put the varied parts of her life on the shelf, as if compartmentalizing her existence were possible. Christ Almighty, she done it now, and risked her advisor finding out that she'd seriously crossed a line. Her reputation at school hung by a tenuous thread, and was rapidly unraveling. All her plans, her goals, her vision swirled around her…but in Christian's bed, none of that mattered.

Downgraded to a junkie, she operated by the seat of her pants and had employed a ton of magical thinking. What she'd do for another hit? Not much, all she had to do was agree. She traced the sculpted lines of his jaw. "You'll come back…when?"

"Thursday."

"And then you'll leave the next morning?"

He shook his gorgeous head. "Thinking about staying for a long weekend. Are you free?"

"Might be possible," she replied.

"Better work on an affirmative. Quick." He ran his hand down her leg, arriving at the juncture of her hip and thigh. He squeezed ever so softly to which she flinched, and ended up gripping his cock inside her. "Baby, that feels damn near heaven. Oh, God. What do you want? Name your price!"

She clenched around his cock again. "Yes. Well, there is the matter of research. I need to administer a psych test. A battery. Are you willing?" She contracted, doing a series of good ole fashioned Kegels.

His eyes rolled back in his head. "Ana, shit. Agreed!"

"Ever heard of Isabel Briggs Myers?"

"No. I imagine I'm going to, though."

She wound her arms over his shoulders. "Carl Jung and a few other shrinks. Nothing painful."

"Can we do it naked?"

Her brows drew together. "Umm…"

"What? With a body like yours, you can't have a problem being undressed?" He moved his hand back to her ticklish spot. "Talk to me, or else."

"It's just…" She touched her finger to his lips. God, what it would be like to have his mouth pressed to her body unimpeded by clothes. "Things have a tendency to get busy around here."

"Even with a lock. I get your point. Let's go to your place."

She gasped. "My place?"

"Unless you're married." He laughed, then suddenly stopped, paling. "I never asked."

"Don't. I'm not," she huffed. "I have a roommate and she's in the same program as me."

He pushed his hips against hers. "Do you have your own bedroom with a door?"

"And a lock. It's not that." _The first step to finding a solution is admitting to a problem._ She sucked in a breath, her pulse thudding. She'd put it out there and see what he did with the info. "I didn't expect that we'd be so…compatible. This is hardly clinical behavior."

"Isn't that a good thing?" he smiled, lowering his lips to hers.

Heat spread over her face and she glanced away. "You do understand I have crossed some lines. Lines I knew were risky"

He pulled her chin back to him and arched a brow. "To clarify, you're studying something unconventional to begin with, and doesn't the problem arise only when a licensed therapist sleeps with a patient? Baby, I'm not your client or patient. I'm the guy giving you the info that I guarantee isn't in a textbook. You wanted an education and you're doing what it takes to get one. Case closed."

"Well, thank you very much, Perry Mason. Unfortunately, this matter isn't in front of Judge Judy."

Christian rubbed his hand over her bottom. "Tone, darlin'. You're not out of my bed yet." He acted as though the matter were settled. She felt sure that, in his mind, it had been.

"That's not the end-all," she whispered, closing her eyes. She could easily get lost in his dark blue eyes and more than kissable lips if she wasn't careful.

"Don't hide from me. Look at me." He shook her by the shoulder.

She met his intoxicating stare, ready to consume her if she so much as blinked. "I'm right here."

He rolled her over, his hand roughly parted her legs, and he grunted. "I expect to see you on Thursday. All of you." He forced his cock deeper inside, then arched back, dragging his length out but not all the way. "You'd better talk to me. Last warning."

"Please," she whispered, unable to say more. He thrust deep into her to make his point. No way to escape him if she tried. Oh, jeez. Standing at the edge of a precipice, she understood it was a long way down, and she didn't have a parachute.

"Talk to me, Ana."

She met his eyes. "We can't just throw caution to the frigging wind."

"Then what do you propose?" he asked, leaning in closer and bringing his hands to her face.

******************************* MORE TO COME….

**Thank you so much for reading and your interest in this super scorching love story. It my honor to share it with others who love FSOG and how that love story changed erotic romance into being accepted into mainstream fiction, even creating a whole new subgenre in romance. If you like this story, please share with others and consider leaving a review, letting me know is this something you'd like more of. Mwah!**

**Background**

THIS FAN FICTION STORY is published as Collared by the Cowboy featuring Brandon McLemore and Mia Santero**.**

**Collared reached a rank of #1 Western BDSM Erotica Best Seller on Amazon as well as in the category of Erotica BDSM Suspense. **

Collared is part of the Bad Boys series and Rose to #1 BDSM Western in March 2014. If you are interested in reading the whole story, let me know. _**I'll send you a copy in exchange for a fair review.**_ Thank you!

**Because of this story's explicit nature, you may only find it by searching on the Kindle Store. A regular search will not show this story given the ****extreme graphic nature**** involving BDSM, drug use, and violence.**

**THIS IS EROTIC SUSPENSE…YET A LOVE STORY WITH A HAPPY ENDING. **


	6. Collared Super Hawt! Chapter 6

THANK YOU FOR VISITING. tHIS SECTION THAT IS SERIOUSLY HOT **GRAPHIC CONTENT** ADULTS ONLY PLEASE

**Chapter Twelve**

"KISS ME," Christian growled softly. This was his test and Anastasia understood why he commanded her. Something that could be casual between two people, was taking on more and more meaning—at least for her. A road sign that between them intimacy bloomed…or deepened. Rapidly, and if she didn't find the means to control her feelings, she'd be in trouble. They'd agreed this was temporary, and a man such as Christian was hardly the type to seek one woman for long. Clue number one: pointless to own and run a club like this, and she'd better wake up and smell the coffee.

"With pleasure, Sir." She offered him her mouth, and quivered when their lips touched. God, he tasted so incredible. Oh God, she prayed.

Her lips were a barometer of her internal landscape, the same as her words and ability to be articulate when she was upset. No small wonder Christian had absorbed that fact about her. She leaned into the kiss. She'd wanted to brush, tease, and then devour his mouth, but she couldn't. Her nerves were stretched into stiff wires ready to fray. Inhaling Christian's scent, a cross between leather and fresh hay, maybe the tang of the ocean, she rubbed her cheek against his, her fingers curling snug on his forearm that he tightly flexed.

He groaned. "Jesus."

"How was that?" Her voice came out a rasp, her mind whirling, and they gazed at one another for several seconds, a raging desire to fuse their mouths swimming between them.

"Enough to send us over the edge. Wouldn't you say?" He pressed his lips together.

"Way over. Sir." Her breasts swelled, making the tips peak and ache for relief. All from one kiss. _Wake up!_ The siren sounded again.

Well, no wonder. Christian, the man who represented sex in cowboy boots, had her in his bed. An inner voice kept up a stream of dirty suggestions and heated images of him spanking her, pulling her hair, and commanding her. The theory of sexual discipline and interplay between a couple, she'd digested thanks to him. On the fly, she could now write a research paper on the subject of being tempted to engage in spanking.

The issue was the practical. With Christian's hands on her body, tying her wrists, she had a choice to make: trust him, or not, as this would be another doorway they'd cross. One marked intimate and explosive.

"Hold out your hands," he said, picking up what looked like a black silk tie.

"Is that…yours?"

"Yes. Never used it like this before. Don't enjoy wearing a tie, but this one I just might after tonight."

His fingers on her skin brooked her body's response. The coiling in her belly swirled and between her legs pulsed with the sliding sound of him lashing his tie, while pulling one end with his teeth to tighten the knot. She stared at the clove hitch around her wrists. "Skilled at tie-down roping. Rodeo?" she asked.

"Some. Not exactly two wraps and hooey. But it'll do. Ranching skills have their uses…in the bedroom. Later, I want to hear how you know so much about roping," he replied, massaging his hands up her arms, then back down again.

Roping, tie-downs, lassoing weren't on the same playing field when she thought of what she knew about rodeo and what she knew about being a woman who voluntarily submitted to an overpowering man. This wasn't something she could do halfway, not if she wanted to know what a sub experienced and why a woman would want to submit to a man who, like Christian, believed he owned her. In her mind, it had all come down to the woman losing her free will.

If she tempered her desire to fully submit to Christian, then he'd never own her lock, stock, and one opinionated barrel. It wasn't a mystery that as her Dom, he wanted her to yield. She just couldn't let go and let him in, not with the price being her will. Her identity.

She wasn't some plaything for men to use and then toss away. Somehow, she had to find the elusive place where she'd be able to balance the equation of trusting him without giving in to him completely. Her position was frigging tenuous at best.

He released her bound wrists. "Nervous?" he asked.

She pressed her lips together, refusing to acknowledge the bereft effect that his sudden disconnect had on her. Her eyelashes fluttered; she couldn't just be one more quaking sub in front of him. "Not in the least."

"Be honest with me," he said, taking hold of her again. "It's what you expect of me."

"Uh." She mentally stumbled while his acumen glinted from his eyes and the heat from his hands warmed her skin. "A bit. Without experience…"

"Yes?" He studied her for a beat or two. "What I'm going to do is structured discipline. This isn't your call, so worrying is useless. If you have to be the one to make decisions, then the stress is on you. But not tonight, and you're always a word away from stopping anything you're uncomfortable with."

"How will you know if I can stand more?" She scanned his face, looking for reassurance.

"You have red and yellow. I doubt you'll need them." Christian gently tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. "Baby, our bodies are roadmaps. I'm confident I can read yours."

"Mighty confident," she murmured.

He'd already demonstrated his expertise and insight into her. No matter, for a moment his arrogance chafed her. She lifted her arms as though by instinct, covering her chest.

Immediately, his gaze sharpened. "Hands down, Anastasia."

She released a murmur of frustration in her throat as his large, capable hands guided her body down and across his lap. He moved her arms out in front of her shoulders, draping them over his legs, and her fingertips grazed the floor. He lifted her dress, baring her bottom. All at once, he pulled up the slip of material between her cheeks and rubbed his finger down through her dampness.

"Oh. God!" She arched upward.

"Steady, Anastasia. Trust me. This is about control as much as it is about honesty. You're wet and excited." His hand guided her down again, removing her thong as he held her over his legs. Then Christian expertly delved his fingers between her legs, and instinctively she clenched from the pleasure. She wanted to give in, but she couldn't be this needy. "Relax for me, baby."

Her mind raced, along with her breath and overloaded senses. It was true. Excitement, fire, and her desire to do what Christian commanded awoke the same desire he'd crafted in her earlier, only now it went from blooming to damn near exploding. His husky voice dripped seductively into her mind.

"Please," she breathed. "I want more."

"But that's not what you need at this moment." He drew her cheeks apart and blew across her skin, making chill bumps rush to the surface of her bottom. She jerked; the space between her legs swelled from her unrequited lust, coupled with being pushed to the brink and the need to have him touch her again.

"Why are you drawing this out when I'm so on edge?" she demanded, bowing upward and attempting to see his expression.

His eyes turned to her and she gasped. His pupils were fully dilated. "Last time. Stay still. I remind you, Anastasia, that isn't a direction with latitude. It's a directive that will be enforced."

"As in positive or negative reinforcement." Her psychology training flared to the forefront, but this wasn't a mental match where he'd let her get the upper hand using psycho-babble. She flinched when his hand pressed between her legs, drawing up and touching her in a place she'd never agreed to share with anyone. "That might be a hard limit."

With one hand, he continued to probe her bottom, swiping his finger over her crevice, and gently fingering her. "Your ass is so tempting."

"Sir, please," she said in a strangled voice, flexing her hips. Then he moved his other hand from her shoulder to her face and stroked his thumb across her bottom lip.

"You have a safe word."

"I'm not ready to use it…Sir."

"Just give into sensation. That's all I want you to do. Close your eyes."

She felt a wisp of something smooth. Soft. Fragile.

"Open your eyes," he said.

She bit her lip and met Christian's gaze. He swiped a feather along her skin. A long, black feather. She smiled and stroked the feather with her fingertips. He grazed it arduously along her body, separating the silky plumes like the teeth of a comb across her skin and she moaned in pleasure. Her heartbeat thundered and she heard the pitter-patter of it in her ears like rain on windowpanes, but no rain fell.

He inhaled. "We'll begin. I want you to take a breath and trust me."

"Yes, Sir." She closed her eyes, focused on the sensations of the room. The hardness of his legs pressing into her belly. His masculine scent swam in her mind until she felt the first stroke. A feather-soft stroke. The leather strands of the flogger traced her backside. Christian's gift to her—one she'd always remember.

Then the strands grazed down her thighs. Again the leather cords teased over her hip, cheek, and thigh before Christian stopped. She felt the leather strands lift and tease the other side of her body and she couldn't help shuddering.

"Sir," she moaned, pushing up her hips.

"Ssshhh. Just feel what I'm doing." His deep voice rolled over her skin as he repeated the rhythmic stroking of leather down the other side of her body.

She rocked her hips against his hand and over his legs. "That feels so good," she moaned, opening her eyes and inhaling. Glancing up and over her shoulder, she met his piercing eyes.

"You'll count out each flick delivered. Counting will help you breath and deal with the sensations. We'll start with the first set of twenty. You'll count backwards. If you do what you're supposed, no more spanks will get tacked on. Don't tempt me to up the count tonight, darlin'. We'll begin with an apology for disregarding my directions."

_An apology!_ She gritted her teeth and inhaled, shifting on his lap, and huffed out, "I'm sorry."

"Alright, I can see you're going to hardheaded." His hand came down with a sharp smack, delivering a sizzling snap. "Anastasia, you can do better."

For a moment, she couldn't. Breathing required all her concentration. Her skin prickled with tiny dots of perspiration.

"Well?" he asked, his deep voice a warm caress over her back.

She laced her fingers together and squeezed. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't listen. In the parking lot. Several times, actually. I almost fell and you were just trying to keep me safe. I'm sorry, Sir.

Christian rubbed his hand over her ass, his thumb swiping down and between her thighs. One light tease and she spread her legs, craving he'd do more.

"Time to begin," he said ever so calmly.

A sharp slice swished through the air before her brain could process the sound as delivering discomfort. Searing stripes of pain stung her backside, flaring brightly in her mind. She reared her head upward just as Christian's hand came down, pressing her shoulders. The leather strands of the flogger radiated with a bite across her skin, far different from his slapping sting of his hand.

"Damn!" she yipped.

"Count and breathe." He leaned into her waist, his hand massaging the skin over her ass. Her attention divided into the categories of pleasure and pain and didn't know what to focus on. She inhaled—or tried to make sense of the idea to breathe. The slice of pain dissipated, not completely but enough so that she tuned into something as easy as inhaling to find a place to ground. "Anastasia, I'm waiting," Christian's voice commanded her attention.

His fingers remained poised at the space between her thighs and she moaned. "Twenty. Thank you, Sir."

"Baby, those words sound perfect coming from your mouth," he said, running his skilled fingers across her sex.

Oh Lord! She pushed her hips in the direction of his teasing fingers and he chuckled, pinching her clit. "Please, Sir," she whispered.

"Ready for more it seems," he murmured. "Remember to count, darlin'."

Her body clenched in frustration—in craving the temptation he offered.

"Yes, Sir." This time she listened carefully for anything that remotely resembled a swishing sound. She caught the whoosh and tensed her body. Bright flash to her mind. This time the pain bit into her skin, skittered to her core, and she scrunched her eyes shut. A cork in an ocean of glittery, jagged sensation. Red-hot-poker-pain stabbed her ass and shot through her veins.

**"Anastasia. You will count for me. We will get through this. I will fuck you. Now focus on my directions." The quiet commanding tenor of Christian's voice caught her and held her focus. "Count."**

"Sorry," she mumbled with her eyes still closed. "Nineteen. Thank you, Sir."

Unrelenting, he used the flogger on her other side in a twice-on-each-side pattern. Again, the swish and swat landed and she managed to count without freaking the hell out. "Fifteen. Thank you, Sir."

"You're doing fine," he said in a low pitch. "Open your legs for me."

"Yes, Sir." It wasn't any easier now. Really, her skin burned from his dead aim. Each time he swung the flogger, he hit the same spot and her body convulsed into a tight plank. But each time she did her part, he rewarded her with his fingers and a delicious tease. "Oh please," she moaned, stretching her legs.

"That's it, baby. Open those lovely thighs wider. You're wet and so beautiful like this." His fingers spread her arousal in a tight circle around her clit, touching and tormenting her until she couldn't think straight. This time he had her jerking in tight bounces until her hips jackknifed above his lap. She hungered for the next swat, arching up her ass, and silently groaning her plea for more. More. More. Until he changed the strength of his spank.

"Ow!" Her ass cheek burned worse than before. "What was that?" she snarled.

"That's not counting," he reminded her in his steely Dominant voice.

She curled her fingers into fists, inhaling a serrated breath until the sting subsided. "Fourteen. Thank you, Sir." Pinpricks of perspiration broke out along her temples. Three more swishes and her voice quavered during each count. Not once did Christian relent in his force and she sure as heck wasn't going to beg. "Eleven. Thank you, Sir."

If anything, the smacks seemed more intense with each one delivered. Scorching came to mind. The scalded skin over her butt stung as though she now sported a third-degree sunburn.

God bless! They were only half done. She inhaled, trying to find the place within herself where she could find relief.

"You're doing incredible, Anastasia." Christian's rich drawl filled her like a summer rain. "No tears or begging. So strong."

"Thank you, Sir." Her voice wavered as her body and mind spun. Inhaling deeply, she glanced around this side of his bedroom, bringing up her shaking hands to brush back her hair. She'd been so wrapped up in manning her personal pain booth, the world didn't matter.

She caught sight of Christian's reflection in the mirror over the bureau and her body spread over his lap, his commanding expression, the silver chain and medallion swinging over his pecs, the flexing of his shoulder muscles…she could have watched him for hours. He lifted his arm, unleashing a sharp swoosh, and all her good ideas evaporated. He must have decided she could stand more heat because this time he brought the flogger down and the swish snapped like a cat-o-nine-tails on her ass cheek.

Tears prickled behind her lids.

"Ten. Thank you, Sir." Her voice came out a hoarse whisper. She was so close to sobbing, pushed to the limit. _Red velvet_. Should she say it? Or simply red…yellow. _No! No! No!_

"Do you want me to stop?" Christian asked, his voice coming out a low rasp.

She couldn't meet his eyes, afraid he'd read her thoughts. "Please, Sir. Continue," she whispered.

"You have the means to let me know—

"No, Sir. I'm fine," she said, then echoed. "Fine."

"Baby…," he said as though he might continue speaking. He didn't. Instead, he used the flogger without mercy—or that's what it felt like to her—and she swallowed the whimper on the tip of her tongue coupled with a plea to stop. She counted on cue, breathing in deeply as a hazy hum filtered through her awareness.

Once more, he sliced the air with the flogger and down it came. Her body became a tight vessel of total sensation. She tried to think a coherent thought and her brain refused. A sparkly sheen surrounded her mind and she hiked her hips as though instinct had taken over. She wriggled as the space between her legs swelled and pulsed—more as she concentrated on the soothing, husky sounds Christian made as he spanked, then massaged her bottom and thighs. She lived for the emotive tracing of her sex, the separating of her lips, his drawing a trail around her entrance, and massaging her clit. He worked her into a frenzy until she sensed, climbing higher and higher, the tendrils an impeding endorphin rush.

The leather strips came down and she counted, "Six. Thank you, Sir." Her voice sounded breathy to her ears. She felt the sting but now it came coupled with a frisson of excitement as though she were at the threshold of something mind-bending—something ethereal. Each swat coiled low in her belly. Bursts of pleasure released when the flogger connected with her skin.

"Please," escaped from her mouth. "Oh, Christian." This wasn't the sexy _Please!_ begging him to fuck her. This was the encompassing _Thank you for knowing me better than I know myself_ acknowledgement. His hand came down, the leather flayed across her bottom and a mind-blowing buzz consumed her to the brim.

"Five," She counted, biting her bottom lip in sounding out the number and finished with a whispered, "Thank you, Sir."

The burning over her butt evolved from hot and bothered in to a deeper state of erotic arousal. She swayed her hips and rubbed her breasts across Christian's muscular thighs.

"Baby, hold still." He used the flogger, changing sides, and she inhaled as though prompted. "You're breathing. Doing wonderful."

"Four. Thank you, Sir." She drifted off, fantasizing and barely conscious of how she pushed her hips high, high into the air seeking his hand after two pleasure bearing smacks.

Each second wore into her like a scrape of coarse sandpaper. Gradually, the numbers begin to dwindle and it was just she and Christian. She tried to remain perfectly still. She heard only the swishing of the flogger lifted in her Dom's hand and she suspected there was another part of this erotic adventure he'd like to teach her. Tantalizing her at every opportunity.

"Anastasia," Christian raised his voice. "Last one. I want to hear you count it. Loud."

The intense smack came, sending a thousand electrical zings along her nerve endings. She arched as erotic ache and primal hunger converged. No longer pain driven, she groaned on the cusp of shattering. She needed Christian now!

She bit back a moan, rocking her hips against his legs. "One. Thank you, Sir." Her arousal flared and she exhaled, giving in to his gentle hands hauling her upright onto his lap.

"Come, Anastasia. God, you floor me." He buried his head against her neck and growled seductively, "Baby, you're more than captivating and now you're mine."

"Christian," she whispered, leaning against him. Her hands felt numb and she could hardly think as he lifted her off his lap and moved her to the center of the bed. He turned her over on her side, lifting her dress up her waist, and she noticed the sound of a bottle being squeezed. She flinched, swinging her head toward him. "What are you doing?"

"Aloe vera," he said, rubbing the gel between his palms. "This will help."

His warm hands spread tingling coolness over her skin. She arched, giving into his erotic massage as he stroked her bottom, then moved his fingers between her legs.

"Feels sensation," she murmured, rocking her hips.

Turning her over so that she was flat against the mattress, he caged her between his palms, staring down into her face. "You get to pick the position."

"Like this, Sir." She tugged at her dress with her bound wrists, and opened her legs wide for him to see the condition that he'd delivered her into—hot, wet, bothered…and oh-so-ready for him.

He met her eyes with a fierce expression and a muscle throbbed along his jaw. "Raise your arms and keep them above your head. No moving them unless directed."

"Yes, Sir." She hooked her fingers under his headboard and her body started to tremble under his watchful eyes. _Oh. God._ She was so close to bursting into flames.

Without speaking, he lowered his zipper and pushed his jeans down his hips. His swollen cock glistened at the tip and appeared forged in steel. He climbed between her legs, sinking his hips down while fisting his hard-on, then hoisted her knee, wrapping her leg around his waist. His crown rimmed her entrance and he reached down, cupping her stinging ass cheek.

"Your ass is beautiful. So damn tempting, painted pink." She whimpered as he pushed forward an inch. There was nothing gentle in the way he hauled her up to him. "Got to get inside you. Now."

Christian savagely slammed his cock deep inside her. She inhaled, feeling the sting of him stretching her folds when he didn't hold back, and the hot spark of sharp pleasure erupted deep in her belly. He buried his cock to the hilt inside her, returning deep and deeper with each hammered thrust he supplied. He delivered as he'd promised, pivoting his hips, fucking her hard and rough, and it was perfect.

"I'm so close," she groaned. The coil inside her belly heated into a flame, then without warning unraveled. She yelled his name with her hoarse voice. The sound of skin slapping skin filled his bedroom as he bucked against her, forcing the ache within her to fully splinter, and she came apart under him.

"That's it. Anastasia, no holding back." He thrust into her farther and farther, grabbing her by the hair at her nape, and plunging into her like he never intended on stopping.

The roiling within her belly swirled wildly each time his cock rubbed against her swollen clit. She gripped the wood between her fingers as the pressure returned, another wave more like a tsunami built within her body, growing stronger and stronger. He hauled her hips up to him in rhythm with his ramming cock. He ground himself harder and deeper, having located her secret spot.

"Again. Oh, please again, Christian," she pleaded. She took what he had to give and held onto to him, calling his name over and over.

"That's it. So fucking good." He tugged her arms higher above her head, pumping his hips as he kept his thighs aligned with her ass. "Say it! My name on your beautiful lips."

"Christian, I'm coming apart," she moaned.

"You're so hot. So wet." His hands encircled her bound wrists, stretching her body tight. "That's it. Come apart for me. I want to feel you come all around me."

"Christian." She exhaled, riding the head rush, ready to fall without heed. The coiling pressure in her belly spiraled, discharging bursts of mind-blowing pleasure in every conceivable direction within her body. She encircled her legs around Christian's waist, flexing her hips, and wildly wrapped around and rode his cock.

"Oh, sugar." He dragged his mouth over her jaw, turning up the force of his body-jarring rhythm of slamming his cock in and out of her.

"More," she pleaded and he laughed, sliding into her with a powerful slam.

"You sure? Talk dirty and I just might."

"Give it to me, cowboy." She dug her heels against his ass cheeks. "Fuck me, stud. Hard."

Christian no longer held back in pumping his hips, driving her to the edge. First ripples of pleasure ran through her, then building, building, building into thundering waves of euphoria that spread like wildfire. She splintered apart as she'd never done before and rode the intensity of his slams and the ecstasy of the orgasm he'd unleashed within her. Violently, she trembled underneath him as the pleasure storm erupted and then exploded. She arched in his hands, almost impossible to keep her fingers off his as she held onto the headboard, feeling the edge of the board press into her hand. He held her, never letting go, if anything, he thrust deeper, harder. He guided her in an erotic dance, a fluid melding of their bodies where she could hardly discern the place her skin, her breath, her heartbeat ended and the points where his began.

"Fuck, Ana. You're exquisite," he said hoarsely, planting a kiss on her lips. He lifted her leg, twisting his torso to slide inside her at a sharper angle, thrusting roughly as he scraped his teeth on her neck, sucking on a point then lightly biting down, whispering, "Mine."

_God!_ He had her rolling her hips, trying to guide him deeper as though she could force him further inside her body which had turned into a raging sea. Filled with too many categories of confusion to count, she blinked back the stinging in her eyes.

Shit, she would not end up crying! "Please. Take me over the edge."

"Ow, baby!" he yelled, savagely slamming and shuddering. His muscles tensed, looking more than ripped and she clenched, squeezing him. "So, so good," he groaned against her face in a low voice.

She felt his fingers graze across her cheek to catch her falling tear. "Christian," she said in low voice. "Babe."

Another shudder and he whispered, "Anastasia. My baby."

CHRISTIAN'S voice came out low, a whispered caress. "Kiss me."

Straddling his hips, she stared down at him lying on the pillows, his hands guiding her hips as he held himself embedded inside her.

"So demanding," she teased, scraping her nails against his skin.

He'd asked her to kiss him in the same way he'd repeatedly done since they'd met. Running her fingers through her hair, she twisted the strands and flipped the thick cord over her shoulder as he watched and the sexiest grin quirked his mouth. She lowered her body and pressed her mouth to his: warm, velvet, and inviting. Slightly parting her lips, she sighed before pulling back.

Hesitating in rising, she stopped and held his gaze, absorbing the heat swimming in his eyes. Her palms held flush to his chest, where his heart thudded in strong beats against her skin.

"More," she murmured.

"Much more," he concurred.

Slowly and deliberately, she returned to his mouth, pressing her lips back to his, a sensual coalesce, and lightly sucked on his bottom lip. Mmm, no one kissed like this man and she gave up fighting. She fused her mouth fully to his, a slight sweep of her tongue, spearing his mouth. Tasting him. Remembering him. Falling for him. _Fast._

_Oh, God!_ She tensed. Gotta pull back before it was too late. Her heart pounded out a warning: get a grip. Control! Where the hell had hers gone?

Playing it cool, she ended the kiss with a throaty, "You sure know how to fuck a girl." She traced her fingertips over his forehead, tangling his hair, and biting back saying more.

"Just so happens, my cock thinks you're the girl to fuck," he replied, turning her so that she tumbled. He pushed her against the pillow, so rapidly the breath puffed from her lips on a laugh. "Don't hold back on me, sugar. Ever," he demanded.

Jesus. What was he asking…surely not all the freaking way? She had to hide her feelings and did so with a roll of her eyes. "That's a tall order. You know I'm a busy woman."

"Really. Need some convincing?" Curling his torso over hers, Christian held her by the wrists he'd only recently untied. "What will you do while I'm gone?" he asked.

"Not much changes in my world. School. School. School. And you?"

She didn't know all the details, just the bare facts about him. His personal life was his to share or not. Prying wasn't supposed to be part of this gig, though her mind kept coming up with a zillion questions. She entertained and asked only the questions pertinent to her study of mind-altering sex. With him as her partner, she gotten hours of hands-on experience. They'd fucked again, not stopping to take off their clothing, or at least she hadn't. His position at the club made her wary that at any moment someone might pop upstairs with an emergency message about the twins.

He lifted her leg, positioning her calf along the side of his body, and met her eyes with a serious gaze. "I want to see you during the week."

A thrill jetted over her skin, making her clench, and she shivered. Groaning, Christian ran his hands up her arms, rubbing his palms over the chill bumps that erupted. She turned her head, glancing out the window and scanned the skies now streaked with silver.

He'd unlocked another door by talking about the future. If his intent equated to an open invitation for fucking, she'd jump at the chance. A tiny—no, make that huge—part of her became giddy at the thought of him coming back during the week. _Not professional, Anastasia._ This was sex. Somewhere, somehow, a rift had developed within her—a gulf existed between what she should be thinking and doing. She _should_ be striving for a selective disconnect where she told herself, _this is nothing but sexual research. _Yet deep down, she'd started to feel...more.

That was the quandary. She'd tried in vain to put the varied parts of her life on the shelf, as if compartmentalizing her existence were possible. Christ Almighty, she done it now, and risked her advisor finding out that she'd seriously crossed a line. Her reputation at school hung by a tenuous thread, and was rapidly unraveling. All her plans, her goals, her vision swirled around her…but in Christian's bed, none of that mattered.

Downgraded to a junkie, she operated by the seat of her pants and had employed a ton of magical thinking. What she'd do for another hit? Not much, all she had to do was agree. She traced the sculpted lines of his jaw. "You'll come back…when?"

"Thursday."

"And then you'll leave the next morning?"

He shook his gorgeous head. "Thinking about staying for a long weekend. Are you free?"

"Might be possible," she replied.

"Better work on an affirmative. Quick." He ran his hand down her leg, arriving at the juncture of her hip and thigh. He squeezed ever so softly to which she flinched, and ended up gripping his cock inside her. "Baby, that feels damn near heaven. Oh, God. What do you want? Name your price!"

She clenched around his cock again. "Yes. Well, there is the matter of research. I need to administer a psych test. A battery. Are you willing?" She contracted, doing a series of good ole fashioned Kegels.

His eyes rolled back in his head. "Ana, shit. Agreed!"

"Ever heard of Isabel Briggs Myers?"

"No. I imagine I'm going to, though."

She wound her arms over his shoulders. "Carl Jung and a few other shrinks. Nothing painful."

"Can we do it naked?"

Her brows drew together. "Umm…"

"What? With a body like yours, you can't have a problem being undressed?" He moved his hand back to her ticklish spot. "Talk to me, or else."

"It's just…" She touched her finger to his lips. God, what it would be like to have his mouth pressed to her body unimpeded by clothes. "Things have a tendency to get busy around here."

"Even with a lock. I get your point. Let's go to your place."

She gasped. "My place?"

"Unless you're married." He laughed, then suddenly stopped, paling. "I never asked."

"Don't. I'm not," she huffed. "I have a roommate and she's in the same program as me."

He pushed his hips against hers. "Do you have your own bedroom with a door?"

"And a lock. It's not that." _The first step to finding a solution is admitting to a problem._ She sucked in a breath, her pulse thudding. She'd put it out there and see what he did with the info. "I didn't expect that we'd be so…compatible. This is hardly clinical behavior."

"Isn't that a good thing?" he smiled, lowering his lips to hers.

Heat spread over her face and she glanced away. "You do understand I have crossed some lines. Lines I knew were risky"

He pulled her chin back to him and arched a brow. "To clarify, you're studying something unconventional to begin with, and doesn't the problem arise only when a licensed therapist sleeps with a patient? Baby, I'm not your client or patient. I'm the guy giving you the info that I guarantee isn't in a textbook. You wanted an education and you're doing what it takes to get one. Case closed."

"Well, thank you very much, Perry Mason. Unfortunately, this matter isn't in front of Judge Judy."

Christian rubbed his hand over her bottom. "Tone, darlin'. You're not out of my bed yet." He acted as though the matter were settled. She felt sure that, in his mind, it had been.

"That's not the end-all," she whispered, closing her eyes. She could easily get lost in his dark blue eyes and more than kissable lips if she wasn't careful.

"Don't hide from me. Look at me." He shook her by the shoulder.

She met his intoxicating stare, ready to consume her if she so much as blinked. "I'm right here."

He rolled her over, his hand roughly parted her legs, and he grunted. "I expect to see you on Thursday. All of you." He forced his cock deeper inside, then arched back, dragging his length out but not all the way. "You'd better talk to me. Last warning."

"Please," she whispered, unable to say more. He thrust deep into her to make his point. No way to escape him if she tried. Oh, jeez. Standing at the edge of a precipice, she understood it was a long way down, and she didn't have a parachute.

"Talk to me, Ana."

She met his eyes. "We can't just throw caution to the frigging wind."

"Then what do you propose?" he asked, leaning in closer and bringing his hands to her face.

******************************* MORE TO COME….

**Ranked #1 Erotic Western on Amazon Kindle Store during March and April. Best seller in suspense and BDSM as well. Thank you for your support. If you like this story, please share and let me know. Thanks!**


	7. Collared by the Cowboy Chapter 7

**Chapter Thirteen**

"What if I came here and performed a quasi-experiment? Really nothing more than an observational study. Took copious notes. Maybe study what consumer trends exist in your boutique downstairs." She licked her lower lip and whispered, "That would mean no sex."

His mind blanked. Refusing to accept Anastasia's proposal, he clenched his jaw as a blast of heat shot up his neck. "Fucking A!" he growled, placing his palms on either side of her head. "You're not going to weasel out. Are you a quitter?"

"Of course not. But I need to keep my head."

"Baby, you're not the only one. First things first. We fuck. Then we talk." While he was in charge, that was the order of business in his bed. He reached for the headboard, coming up slightly onto his knees, and positioned himself between Anastasia's lovely thighs. He spread the lips of her pussy, rubbing the head of his cock over her slick, swollen, and very tight entrance. Blood surged into his groin, engorging his cock and balls and interweaving jolts of both fire and pleasure. "God, you feel incredible."

Lifting his head, he gazed into Anastasia's fathomless dark eyes and knew he was falling, without the means to stop or slow the descent. The categorical connection forged between them hummed in his blood and bones. Her ecstasy was his, and he reminded himself to stop staring and get pumping.

He pushed himself into her snug warmth and reached for the headboard again. Breaching her entrance, he held back from slamming into her by flexing his hips back and forth in a slow rocking motion, going a little deeper into Anastasia with each thrust. He watched her face, gauging her reaction. Her golden skin flushed, washing color up her neck and face. Through her parted lips she called his name in a husky, jagged voice. He ate it all up.

"More, Sir, please," she begged.

"I'm going to give you just what you asked for," he promised, drawing his cock backward. The slide from her pussy sent jets of pleasure straight through his dick, so intense that his balls tightened. Surging forward, he drove himself into her heat, holding her under him. "You feel so good like this."

Over and over, he hammered himself between Anastasia's thighs, hoarse grunts emanating from the back of his throat with each slam. He forcefully pursued his goal, to get as close as humanly possible to the core of this woman. He didn't care what it took, he wasn't about to let her decide this link, this bond between them, wasn't working. It was for him. She closed her eyes, biting her lush lip. Her body surrendered beneath him, wrapped around him, taking everything he had to give, but still she held back.

"Christian," she half whispered.

"C'mon, baby. Give yourself to me," he groaned. Last night, he'd made a small dent in her false bravado, but not nearly enough for what they both desired. She needed a doorway to escape from the walls she'd erected around herself, and he needed…her.

Nothing complex, just complicated. Every inch of her body, paired with her incredible mind, demanded that he possess her. So he might as well go for broke: he wanted her heart as well. The promise she held out to him was far, far less. And now, she was trying to close up shop completely, because of …what?

They'd proven they were compatible and that had become a problem? _Hell, no!_

Her face flushed deeper, as did her neck and the skin across her chest. He wanted to rip the dress off her back. She was the first woman he'd repeatedly fucked fully dressed—the first woman who'd refused to strip when he demanded it. He was naked on several levels thrusting into her incredible body. She was so fucking hot, creeping under his skin, and making his dick go from hard to unbelievably swollen to about to explode.

The way her pussy clenched around him, tied all his thoughts into knots except one: how to keep fucking her.

The sensation of sliding his length into her had him pounding between her legs, while the headboard slammed against the wall. His hunger for her raged through him, making his blood boil, and his cock swell. His nuts hugged his groin, far too soon.

Electrical pleasure skittered up his spine as a flash of light discharged in his head. "Are you there?" He reached down between their bodies, pressing the pad of his thumb to her erect clit.

"Almost." She dug her nails into his skin and he rubbed his fingers across her, gathering their juices and returning his attention to her tight bud. Pushing up the hood, he lightly rubbed the tiny, exquisitely sensitive pearl. She writhed, arched and moaned, then whimpered the next time he stroked her. "That's it, baby."

"Oh. God!" Anastasia exhaled. A distant, half-lidded expression crossed her face, and he kept strumming, more insistently, until a dreamy look softened her eyes, curving the corners of her incredible lips. One more thrust and he could no longer fight the urgent command of his body. The detonation started in his balls, riding a closed circuit through his torso until his brain and dick felt the blitz simultaneously and he came hard inside her, arching his back and pumping his hips.

He peeled his fingers off of the headboard and lowered his torso. "You're not walking away from this. We're too good together."

She met his eyes and smiled. "You've made your point, counselor."

He settled on the pillow next to her, and she shifted her focus outside. He followed her gaze to the window, and found the sky was actually blue. Gone were the clouds and he pulled her close to him, kissing the side of her head, and inhaling her now-familiar scent. He rubbed his fingers on her jaw, gently tilting her chin, and drawing her attention back to him. "I'm not dense. I get your need to keep this…professional."

"It's not a silly request." The look in her eyes tightened. She pulled back slightly until he nodded. Shit, this was a hard-line if he'd ever encountered one.

"I'm not arguing your point." He took a deep breath, caressing her shoulder, and envisioned the perfect place to take her. The cottage on the lake. Secluded. "I have a place that's family owned. Lakefront. We've got a fishing place—not far away. It's available if you're interested. I'll arrange getting coverage for the club so we can get away."

"Sounds tempting. But I still need to conduct my research." Anastasia bit the corner of her lip.

He recognized her non-verbal agreement and closed the deal. "Then it's settled. I'll tell my uncle who owns the cottage not to bother us. Won't be the first time one of us has used the place with strict instructions for everyone to stay the hell away. We'll lay low until Sunday. Do some of those tests you mentioned and a few other things you haven't experienced—yet. Are you game?"

"I can't resist you," she smiled broadly.

"Then kiss me," he said.

She pressed her mouth to the corner of his and his chest convulsed. If this was any measure of their progress, they were moving backwards. His mind stopped somersaulting when she brushed her mouth toward the middle of his lips and pressed down. Pillow-soft lips settled on his and then parted, sharing the sweet taste of her mouth; then with a hesitant suck to his bottom lip she was gone. Just one kiss and he felt lightheaded, if not branded. His gut tightened and he had to remind himself to take a frigging breath. She smoothed her finger over his lips and smiled.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Trying to imagine you fishing. Do you?"

"I have my own lines. Does that answer your question? There's a boat and in the summer we fish, ski, swim. You'll like the place. Easy on the eye…like you."

"Psst," she whispered. "Heads up. I'm a sure thing for the cottage. You don't have to try and seduce me."

"Girl, you've got me scrambling worse than any person I have ever known. The term _sure thing_ and you shouldn't be placed in same sentence, let alone the same frame of mind."

"Am I that bad?" she asked.

"Not without cause," he returned. "We both push each other's boundaries."

"I'll go with that. Speaking of which, you need to go. Don't you?"

He pulled her close, one last snuggle. His cock slipped out of her and he lifted her over his body. "Unfortunately the clock doesn't stop for any of us."

She stared down at him with a look of serious concentration. "We need to do something with Esme and Selma."

He grimaced. "I can take them to their father. Let him deal with them."

"How about if you let me see if they'd agree to treatment? They might."

"If they don't, I'm not giving them their car keys back. They'll go home to their father. He has to accept that they're not going through some sort of phase. This isn't your problem. I don't want you to get sucked in." He picked her up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, then set her on his lap.

Her eyes lowered. "Trust me, I'm not going to. Not where Riverdale Methodist is concerned." Anastasia's stony tone and the firm set of her jaw seized his attention.

"You have history with that church?"

"Never set foot inside. So, no." She smiled back at him, pressing her forehead to his.

"So full of yourself," he grunted and let her go as she lifted herself up and off his body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~More to come...

**THIS FAN FICTION STORY is published as Collared by the Cowboy featuring Brandon McLemore and Mia Santero.**

**Collared reached a rank of #1 Western BDSM Erotica Best Seller on Amazon as well as in the category of Erotica BDSM Suspense. **

**Collared is part of the Bad Boys series and Rose to #1 BDSM Western in March 2014. If you are interested in reading the whole story, let me know. I'll send you a copy in exchange for a fair review. Thank you!**

**Because of this story's explicit nature, you may only find it by searching on the Kindle Store. A regular search will not show this story given the ****extreme graphic nature**** involving BDSM, drug use, and violence.**

**THIS IS EROTIC SUSPENSE…YET A LOVE STORY WITH A HAPPY ENDING. **


	8. Collared by Christian Chapter 8

**COLLARED BY THE COWBOY**

**Installment 7.b**

IN the early morning there wasn't anyone on the floor below, with the exception of Trent and the two young women who Christian now had the odious task of watching over. He threaded his fingers with Anastasia's, enjoying the surprised spark in her eyes. He led her downstairs and they silently walked hand in hand toward his private hallway. In a chair leaning against the wall, Trent held his phone, texting someone. At their approach he stood up to stretch. "Not a peep from down the hall."

"Thanks for hanging around," Christian said, happy Trent had stayed.

"No problem. Didn't want there to be any issues."

"Let's hope there isn't," he nodded.

"There's fresh coffee at the bar, just made a pot. Want me to grab two cups for your guests?"

"Probably be helpful. Yep. Meet us down there."

Anastasia smiled up at him. "You act gruff, but you don't fool me."

With Trent gone, he took hold of her and leaned her against the wall. "Have you forgotten last night?"

"Me and my rear end haven't," she moaned. Her phone rang as his mouth ghosted over her jaw. He swallowed the groan overtaking his throat as he pushed up against Anastasia's soft body. He settled for kissing her cheekbone, then adjusted himself in his pants.

Impatiently, he listened to her talk to someone about Esme and Selma. That same someone loudly asked Anastasia, "What's their last name?"

She raised her face to him arching a brow at his behavior, and responded to the person on the other end, "Jamison."

Her dark eyes glittered in the dimly-lit hall, and her ripe lips tempted him to remove the phone from her hand and disconnect the call.

"Ana," he groaned. He clenched his jaw, and started to pace up one side of the hall and down the other. No way in hell would he knock on the door and give Esme or Selma the wrong idea. He returned to Anastasia's side and sulked like a grouchy kid next to her, leaning his shoulder into the wall.

"I'm on hold," she offered.

"I have an idea of something we can do for sixty seconds."

"Sixty seconds. That's the limit."

"Relax for me." He ran his hands under her tits, cupping and kneading each one. Her nipples sprang to life, erect under his thumbs. "That's it. God, I want to suck on these beauties. Press my cock between them. I can think of a hundred things I want to do with your tits."

She gasped and pushed away from him. "Yes. I'm listening. Sorry." She narrowed her eyes in his direction and he shrugged, refusing to let go of her free hand.

He'd already decided they would leave by the private exit and he'd phone Andrew Jamison about his daughters. If the man didn't do something, he'd go to court and get some sort of restraining order to keep Esme and Selma away from the club, not that it would help the girls. _Christ_. He closed his eyes at the mess this was becoming. It was one thing to be in denial. If Jamison ignored his kids, he'd lose all respect for the man after this go-round.

Absentmindedly, he rubbed his thumb over Anastasia's fingers, tracing her fingertips. Touching her both soothed him and made the hollowness he carried expand. He hungered for one more moment where they could touch each other without restraint, and maybe she'd agree to take off her clothes next time. His dual desires to push her boundaries and protect her warred within him until his inner turmoil twisted a knot of confusion in his gut.

He'd never been one to fuck a woman and then become so antsy afterwards, wanting something more. This wasn't his style and it didn't make sense, other than he needed to have Anastasia. Completely.

By next weekend, he planned on having fucked her until he'd had his fill. It sounded savage, even as a private, unspoken sentiment. But dammit, that was one of the first things he'd learned about desensitization when working with subs. It was like wanting something forbidden. There was only one way to break that type of desire, and it was to overindulge. Smooth the ragged edges of his craving until finally, he'd be master of his desires.

Anastasia lowered her arm and swung around, and he lifted off the wall. "What's the verdict?"

"They're being admitted as we speak. I pressed the point that the girls were electing treatment which means a lot to the center. Did you know they've been in several treatment facilities over the last three years?"

"Besides the last time, when they sideswiped my car, I didn't know. Can't say I'm surprised, though."

"I don't know all the details, but it seems this is habitual and it's getting worse. Much, much worse."

"So what's the plan?"

"We need to talk to them and get them to agree to seek treatment."

"Wait. We? I don't think I should be involved. They've got some weird fixation on me."

"I don't know a lot about them, but I think they see you as a lifeline."

He held his hands out in front of him. "That's not how they view me."

She cocked her head. "Why, because they show up here a lot?"

He raked his fingers through his hair, uncertain what to say, then decided Anastasia would understand. "They make it a habit to fling around suggestions. Not just in words."

"Like what?"

He inhaled and shoved his hands down into his front pockets. "At one time, on a daily basis, they sent …photographs. Of themselves. I blocked their numbers. And worse. They flash their body parts like it's nothing."

"They're acting out in a provocative manner. You know, they probably sense you're one of the few men who won't respond. It makes you safe territory in a very strange way, but you have to remember that sometimes that's how people function when pushed to their limits. And they constantly test the boundaries, which makes it difficult to reach out to them. I get it."

His muscles tensed. "I don't feel comfortable about it and that makes it hard to be sympathetic to them."

Anastasia sighed, curling her fingers around his arm, and one corner of her full mouth lifted. "Of course it does. It's part of their issue. They need treatment and therapy. Come on."

Trent walked over to them carrying two cups of steaming coffee.

An hour later, they were able to convince Esme and Selma to enter treatment. It had taken him, Anastasia and Trent to convince the girls, even resorting to threats—mostly coming from him - and cajoling, which Anastasia excelled at.

"I'll go get their stuff," he said before the twins changed their mind. He came back from Marty's office with the plastic bag containing their belongings. He removed their shoes from the bag but kept their keys and money to give to the treatment center.

"I can drive," Trent offered. Christian noticed the young man who'd worked for him for the last year was paying special attention to Selma.

That wasn't his concern at the moment. He made a mental note to speak with Trent, caution him to some degree. Right now, he was grateful that Trent had an SUV and Selma and Esme had agreed to the plan, as long as Christian accompanied them and promised he'd come and visit.

"I visited the last time," he protested, then with Anastasia's pointed stare, he softened his tone. "This is for your own good. Make us proud."

"We will," Esme sniffled. And then the waterworks began to spread and Selma caterwauled, stuttering out an apology to him. He pushed up his hat, unsure what to do, and looked to Anastasia for help. She stepped in with hugs and tissues. He decided the best thing he could do was keep his trap shut. By late morning, the twins were admitted and settling into the treatment center, and the counselor had an appointment with their father.

Out in the corridor, while they waited to say goodbye to the girls, Christian tried to avoid overhearing the call made to Jamison by the counselor and case worker. But given they were seated only feet away from the counselor's office it was impossible to miss when the pastor yelled and launched into a shitload of excuses over the speaker phone. The man tried to gloss over this latest incident as nothing more than part of his daughters' ongoing rebellion.

The counselor rebutted the minister's denial with one indisputable act. She had in front of her the girls' treatment file and a four-year history through insurance claims. The counselor had no problem cutting to the issue at hand and refused to support the minister in his turning-this-over-to-God approach, nor would she accept his intention to place it in the hands of one of his prayer groups as a satisfactory solution. The counselor and case worker finished the phone call, extracting a commitment from Mr. Jamison in which he would attend the first counseling session, and the hall quieted down.

Christian tipped up his hat and looked over to Anastasia. "Not hard to understand why those girls are like they are."

"Or hard to understand why you haven't tossed in the towel where they're concerned," Anastasia returned, threading their fingers together, and then smiled glancing down the hall.

The twins had entered the hall and he leaned over to the counselor's doorway. "Looks like we need to sound the alarm to hold it down inside." He knocked on the door and the counselor peeked out. "The girls are coming. Thought you might want to know.

"We're done. Thanks," the woman said and joined them in the hall.

"We've come to say goodbye," Selma said, holding hands with Esme. They were dressed in clean clothing the center had provided and held out their hands in Christian's direction.

"I believe you can make this work. Can you try to give it a chance?" he asked them.

The girls glanced at each other, then swung their gaze back to him. "We promise."

"Yeah. We will," Esme said.

The twins turned to Anastasia. "Thank you. If it weren't for you, we'd be in a bad place right now."

"I'll be by tomorrow," she said.

"Really?" Selma's eyes widened and for a second, she seemed to let drop her usual cockiness as a glimmer of an unsure young woman peeked out.

"I'm involved with another women's counseling group here. Would you like that? Both of you?"

"Super. Then we'll see you soon." Esme beamed.

Trent held out his hand. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Selma flushed and Esme pulled her sister away. They walked to the end of the hall, stopped and waved, then with a quick turn disappeared around the corner.

Trent dropped them back at the S & L and then drove off, but not before he asked Anastasia her thoughts on him visiting the girls. "Give them a week and then call," she suggested.

The cleaning crews were inside and Christian imagined Anastasia was missing out on class or work. "I'll call you," he said when they stood next to her car.

"I'll see you in a couple of days. Be good."

"I'm not the one who needs a reminder to behave," he pushed her back against the car. In the daylight, amber flecks were visible in the depths of her dark eyes. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Then come back to me soon."

"Kiss me."

She glanced around and inhaled a breath, then pulled on the collar of his shirt, bringing his face close to hers. Closing her eyes, she pressed her mouth to his lips. Her kiss was warm, wet, and sweet, and ended far too quickly.

"I'll be back just to get another one of those," he said hoarsely. He opened her door and held her hand as she lowered herself onto the seat. One more time he stood and watched her drive off, this time wondering what part of him she took with her.

**THIS FAN FICTION STORY is published as Collared by the Cowboy featuring Brandon McLemore and Mia Santero.**

**Collared reached a rank of #1 Western BDSM Erotica Best Seller on Amazon as well as in the category of Erotica BDSM Suspense. **

**Collared is part of the Bad Boys series and Rose to #1 BDSM Western in March AND April 2014. If you are interested in reading the whole story, let me know. I'll send you a copy in exchange for a fair review. Thank you!**

**COLLARED SUPPORTS SEXUAL ASSAULT AWARENESS and met it's campaign goal at Thank you for the generous support toward this worthwhile cause!**

**Please visit my blog at .com for more info.**


	9. COLLARED Chapter 9

FANFICTION…

FSOG has gone Western.

Repeat after me: hell yeah!

Christian taught Anastasia about a different type of touch, casting away the veils and washing away the walls she erected. By his unflinching ability to dominate her, she came alive, willing to expose something buried, something locked away.

He freed her completely. Finally.

**Chapter Fourteen**

His younger brother, Elliot, joined him in the barn as he studied Rebellion's movements within the indoor ring. "He looks meaner than usual. Might be my imagination, but I doubt it," Christian said, leaning his arms over the railing. "How'd he do while I was gone?"

Elliot scratched the side of his face. "I taped his ankle and kept an eye on how he's bearing his weight. Something's definitely up."

"Let's hope not." Christian rapped his knuckles on the side of wood railing. "Might be he's got an abscess."

"You gonna let him trot a spell?" Elliot asked, walking alongside Christian.

"More like walk. Let's do it. I'll be gone come this Thursday."

Elliot handed him a coil of rope. "That business with the breeders' association?"

"Naw. After they found the paperwork we submitted, they simmered down. I'm taking some personal days. Think you can handle this place while I'm gone?" Christian tied a loop in the end of the rope, then swung it around his head effortlessly until the rope and his arm moved in fluid symmetry. He and Elliot worked together just as they'd done at roping competitions when they were younger. He released the rope when Elliot forced Rebellion to change directions, and smoothly hooked the loop around Rebellion's neck.

"Got him," Elliot snarled. "He's giving you a run for you money."

Christian gritted his teeth and dug in his heels into the dirt when the horse reared up without warning. Once Rebellion simmered down, he held out the rope to Elliot. "Hold this. That horse is in a foul mood."

Elliot tugged, cinching the rope so that Rebellion couldn't get loose. "What's the word in Paris?"

"Not much," he replied, picking up a guideline. Christian relaxed his body and his gait as he approached the stubborn mule of a horse.

"That's bullshit if I ever heard a load," his younger brother snorted.

Christian ignored Elliot, focusing on the horse and his stance. Rebellion shifted his weight on his front legs. This should have been the point when his horse from hell pawed the ground and looked for a way to bite or kick Christian. He didn't like that Rebellion seemed more concerned with bearing his own weight than taking a piece out of him.

He kept his hands down as he walked up to Rebellion, talking in a low, confident tone. "Come on, boy. Gotta see how your ankle is doing. This is your game."

The horse shook its silvery mane and seemed to wait on him to arrive. Rebellion's spirit finally won out and he bolted when Christian reached his side.

"He's a hellion," Elliot pronounced, pivoting around and holding the rope taut to keep the horse from taking off.

"Whoa. Not so fast." Undeterred, Christian ran his hand along the rope until he was a few feet from the horse. He stopped and regarded Rebellion for a few beats, then inched forward until he was in striking distance. He took hold of the horse's bridle and snapped the guide rope in place. He unknotted the rope and shook it free from Rebellion. All the while, he spoke in a soothing voice to his horse, and ran his hand down Rebellion's leg.

Bending over, Christian lifted the horse's ankle and inspected the underside of his hoof. He removed his glove and pressed his palm against the hoof. _Damn._ His hand absorbed radiating heat, a sure sign of an underlying issue. Not good, and not a surprise. He let go of Rebellion's ankle, and gave some slack to the guide rope.

"Go on, boy," he said, stepping back to give Rebellion room to walk in a wide circle around the indoor pen.

Elliot sauntered up to him, winding up the rope, and observing Rebellion. "Looks to be shy. He's tender-footed, alright."

"No doubt he's favoring it," Christian said. "But you did good. He could have gotten a heck of lot worse. Maybe now that we know his issue, he won't be so ornery."

"Wishful thinking," Elliot chuckled. "It's in his blood to be a ballbuster. Probably why you two get on."

"That's rich, coming from you." He raised a brow at his brother. "We'd better begin giving him those heat treatments and soaking his hoof." Rebellion walked up to Christian and whinnied. He reached into his jacket pocket for a treat and pulled out his hand. The horse approached closer, nuzzling over his palm where he held a few pieces of apples and carrots. "You're a fighting mess," he said, patting Rebellion's neck.

"Hold him steady," Elliot requested abruptly.

"_You_ want to take a look before I clean his hoof?"

"_You_ always said to lay eyes on something. Never assume. The more I learn about horses, the better. Right?"

Christian nodded and hooked a finger inside the bridle. "You sure are changing. I'm breaking a rule. All assuming isn't bad."

"How's that?" Elliot snorted. "Or is that a joke."

"No joke," Christian replied. "Assuming leadership, I mean."

His brother flashed his light blue eyes, a slight frown line appearing between his brows. "I'm trying," Elliot muttered, rubbing his hand down the horse's leg and lifted his hoof. "I'll get some of the liniment to rub on his ankle down to his hoof. Carolina can get us some more for after the soak."

Christian ran his knuckles across the horse's forehead, mulling over his brother's deepening interest in the equine side of Evermore. "Find out where she orders it from, we need to stock up."

"She doesn't order it. Carolina makes it and told me to let her know if we needed some more." Elliot pushed up his hat. "Better take a look."

Christian removed a pick from his back pocket and exchanged places with his brother. He cleaned out the underside of the hoof, examining indentations along the frog. He grimaced, palpating Rebellion's hoof and ankle. "Here's a soft spot. We need to get on this. He's in pain. Go ahead and rewrap his ankle, and better tape his hoof. As long as we can get the abscess to keep draining, he should be fine come spring."

"I'm on it." Elliot nodded. "You telling Matt about your trip? He came round yesterday looking for you. Something about the stock and wanting to know what your plans are for next year."

"We'll meet him together." Christian said, already chafing under the constraints of living two entirely different lives. The equine part of Evermore didn't equate to that of the cattle, but they had developed a steady client base. He'd gotten a slew of requests for horses for the coming year. It was either Evermore hire someone for that area of the ranch business or slowdown its growth. Elliot had stepped up, but he wasn't ready to take over making major breeding decisions just yet. His sister-in-law, Carolina, Matt's wife, had just given birth to twins a month ago and wouldn't be ready to come back as the ranch vet for another six months, at least—and only then, if Matt agreed.

"We should map out a plan for next year and decide who's doing what."

"Why? What's gonna change?" Elliot asked, his usual wisecracker face firmly in place.

"You never know," Christian muttered.

"Naw. Not a hope in hell. Things don't change around here. Or hadn't you noticed?"

Christian spun on his heel. "Ain't that the truth, for the most part." He rolled his eyes, yanking open the gate. "I'll be in the office."

"Well, hello to you, too," Stephen called out as Christian tossed him the coil of rope.

"You still getting married?" Christian snapped.

"In two weekends. Thank you very much for your concern. Have you gone to get your tux fitted?"

"It's on my list. I'm not the one you need to press." He jerked his thumb over to Elliot.

"Pardon me, Professor Know-it-all, but you are. The last person, matter of fact."

Christian peeled off his gloves and tossed them onto the bench. "How is it that a Harley-riding rancher decides to go for a black-tie wedding? Isn't that going overboard?"

"Speak to my fiancée. I was given a set of directions, and instead of standing around arguing about every goddamn detail, I did what I was told, and got back to living my life. How about you going with the flow this time? I'm only doing this once, so buck up."

Christian gritted his teeth. "Don't start."

"Before you have a meltdown, Gillian said she didn't get your RSVP. You bringing a date?"

He thought of Anastasia. Then he thought of his family and frowned. "Maybe," he barked.

"It was meant as a joke."

"Why? Is it so funny that I'd bring a date?"

"You laughed when I said I might, to Matt's wedding."

"It was in Miami and I couldn't imagine you on your Harley with a girl. Remember, you weren't exactly settled like now."

"You mean, like you. You're not the only Grey coming stag."

"Great. Cade and me. Who else?"

Stephen cut a glance at Elliot, but neither one of them were about to mention Elliot's single state. No one ever knew if his relationship with Sommer was on—or off.

Depending upon the number of caustic comments Elliot flung about, both he and Stephen knew that was a surefire sign to gauge if their younger brother was currently single or hooked up.

"That sums it up." Stephen tossed the loop of rope onto a hook on the barn wall. "Three stubborn mules."

"Not so fast, Sherlock," Christian growled, his gut tightening as he considered the shitload of ribbing he'd receive from his brothers if he decided to bring Anastasia. "Oh, fuck. Count me in. I'm bringing a date. Should I call Gillian, or can you deliver the news?"

Stephen broke out into a smile which hovered between a choke and a belly laugh. "No whips and chains," he warned.

"Fuck you and the Harley you rode in on." Christian strode past his brother and into the barn office.

He picked up the computer tablet and mashed the start button, doing a few neck rolls to loosen the tension in his shoulders while he waited for the damn thing to turn on. He scrolled through their list of breed stock. His eyes snapped to the line containing Ray Steele's name. The idea of this being a conflict of interest flashed in his mind and he understood, in part how, Anastasia might feel conflicted sleeping with him and struggling to keep things objectives with her school. He sure was having trouble keeping his head on straight. But confused or not, he wasn't doing anything unethical by calling Ray, and Anastasia wasn't doing anything wrong in his bed. Without warning, his memory shifted to her underneath him, and his chest convulsed. _Stop mooning over her!_

Breeding horses! That's the subject of the moment. It was time to start the ball rolling on the lines they'd breed next year. He hadn't considered palominos. If they were a hot item for horse trading—why not? It would be worse if he'd gotten the info and gone to another breeder. That would suck. At least he was throwing business in Ray Steele's direction.

"Heard you were back." Matt sunk into a chair in front of the office desk.

"In living color." He stared back across the desk at his brother.

Matt propped his boots up. "Well? How goes the big city?"

Christian exhaled. "You got something to ask…or say?" Matt didn't shoot the shit. He was the most close-mouthed of all his brothers, second only to their father. "Already got an earful from Stephen."

"Hey, well. What'd you expect? Stephen doesn't know if he's coming or going with his wedding on the horizon."

"Can't believe it." He shook his head and leaned back in the chair. "Fuck. Where'd the time go?"

Matt took out his cellphone and held it out over the desk. It had a montage of baby pictures. Christian flipped through them, floored at how in only a month his brother's infant twins, a son and a daughter, had grown like weeds.

Matt sighed, "As long as you minimize the regrets, it's all good."

"I expect so." He tapped his fingers along the desk, a hollowness welling up in his throat. "Another married brother."

"We're the happy crowd, need I remind you?"

"Don't." Christian tossed the phone back. "Catch."

Matt wasn't lying. In a couple of weeks there'd be only two unmarried brothers left. Him and Elliot. And Elliot was moodier than a woman, getting wound up tighter and tighter, or so it seemed.

"Come over for dinner."

Christian sat forward. "I will. How about next week?

"Text me a date."

"_I'll_ let Carolina know. You might forget, like the time I showed up and you two were naked in bed."

"With my mother-in-law in residence, that's not likely to happen."

"Don't shit me. All the more reason. You'll have her pregnant again next year."

Elliot wandered in. "We meeting now?"

"Might as well," Matt said, pulling at his collar self-consciously.

Christian caught the gesture and wasn't about to let an opportunity to rib Matt go by. "Asshole. She is. Isn't she?"

"Don't start on me." Matt flipped him off.

"What's going on?" Elliot asked, looking between them.

"Our brother is meaner than a hornet," Matt grumbled.

Christian waved Elliot inside. "Insofar as stock—I've heard talk about palominos gaining popularity." He tossed the idea out, waiting for Elliot or Matt to say something.

"We haven't done them. Ever." Matt steepled his fingers. "Where's this info coming from?"

"Enough to say I have a reputable line on the info. It's more than good."

Elliot chimed in. "You sure sound confident."

"If there's a run, you want to be ahead of the pack or following?" Christian asked.

"That's not a question. It's a set-up," Matt snorted. "I'll leave the horses to you two to decide what direction to take. It's the cattle I'm concerned about. We've just about recovered from the loss from a couple years back. More pressing is our uncles along with some of the cousins. They're talking about separating the land. Again."

"What's got them going this time?" Christian asked, already seeing the issue at hand. Selling was never an option. Evermore LLC absorbed the land when anyone wanted out or just left. Recently two of his uncles had been sending up smoke signals with talk of selling ranch land to outsiders when the time came. Went so far as to threaten to break up the business partnership and those two didn't care if it was McLemores or polka-dot zebras who bought when the time came.

"They're soliciting support," Matt replied.

"They don't live here full time. Why do they keep causing problems?" Elliot asked.

"Sometimes it's a question of money." Matt adjusted his hat. "Dad said something about possibly partitioning and selling. Don't know."

Christian leaned back in his chair. This would be interesting information to know well ahead of the inevitable. His uncles and cousins were moving away in droves as of a couple of years ago. It was only a matter of time before talk of 'sell the land' came up again.

"We don't meet for a vote until spring," he glanced from Matt to Elliot. "Or has that changed?"

"Meeting hasn't changed." Matt flexed his jaw. "Why you asking?"

He met his brother's fixed stare. "Don't worry, I'm not thinking of selling."

Matt rubbed the stubble over his chin. "You do have other interests. Settling down doesn't seem to be one of them."

His diaphragm constricted and his thoughts ran to Anastasia. That might not be the God's honest truth anymore. "You assume," he muttered, picking up the tablet. From his peripheral vision, he noted that both Elliot and Matt stopped fiddling around. "Shit, you two are staring a hole in my fucking head."

"Nope. But you're on edge." Elliot took off his hat and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. "I already asked if you had anything to share. Want to rethink that?"

He clamped his jaws together, pursing his lips, and didn't have an answer. "I got nothing to say."

"Doubtful," Matt said. "But we won't push."

"Back to the land discussion." Christian peered up from the tablet screen.

Matt exhaled loudly. "Just keep in mind that whatever decisions we're up against might require that we all tighten our belts. We might be forced to buyout whoever the hell wants to say _sayonara_ to the ranching business."

"Shit. That means being liquid." Christian decided now was not the time to discuss that he had other plans for his liquidity tied to opening a restaurant in the spring. He set the tablet down and rubbed his hand across his brow, tugging on the brim of his hat that had suddenly gotten way too tight.

"Like water," Matt echoed the sentiment. "You have nothing to worry about. Being single and flush, except for your small investment." His older brother gave Christian a knowing look, which he chose to ignore.

"What about for people like me?" Elliot asked.

Christian understood that his brother being just twenty-one, he wouldn't have much saved to reinvest.

He and Matt traded a glance, then Matt nodded. In their silent exchange they had agreed they had their younger brother's back. They would cover him financially, so Elliot would have equal power in casting a vote which required the money to back it up. Same as in poker, those family meetings required everyone to come to the table and do more than talk.

Matt turned to face their younger brother, lowering his boots to the floor with a loud thud that reverberated in the office. "We vote as a block on this side of the ranch. You're with us, Dad, Miller, your sister—"

"Better include me in this mess," Stephen interjected, leaning on the doorframe.

"That's how we were born and bred. We McLemores stick together," Matt replied, getting out of his seat, grinning and pumping fists with his brothers.

SITTING in front of the desk, Christian sipped a beer and sent out emails to breeders, including Ray Steele, inquiring about specific stock lines. It was well past ten and he wondered if he'd finally waited long enough to call Anastasia. A thousand times during the day, he had picked up his phone, but each time he dialed her number, he stopped before pressing 'Talk.'

This time his gut tightened; the tension had become unbearable and he swore as he pressed the icon to connect the call. He listened to the phone ring and then her voice mail picked up. Ten o'clock, and things got rolling around the S & L. He rubbed his thumb along the side of the phone, contemplating how far his head was up his ass if he was considering calling Pen and asking if she was there.

"Fuck!" he swore.

"She must be something," Elliot said, walking into the office. "Man, even I can call a girl."

"This ain't any little girl," he muttered.

Elliot went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. "Is she the reason you're cutting out early this week?"

"Might be," Christian said. "What about you?" He didn't know what to make of Elliot, except he was pigheaded.

"Sommer and I are taking a break." Elliot pulled back on the tab of his beer can, holding it away as the spray flew. He raised it to his mouth, tipping it upward for a long swallow.

Elliot's turbulent romantic history with one young lady made talking about sex difficult. He was the brother who didn't kiss and tell. Hell, Christian didn't know if he kissed at all. .

"Another one. Well, that's commendable, I guess," Christian remarked.

"I'm not trying to set any records. It would be impossible, anyway. To be the youngest Grey badass isn't a place anyone should be," Elliot said wryly.

"May I remind you, Matt Jr. is next in line? You're no longer the youngest, bro."

Elliot glared back at him. "I am from this generation. Every cousin, uncle, brother—even our father has a frigging reputation in this town. I'm not going to compete to see who can fuck the most women." Two pink dots fanned out along Elliot's cheeks.

"You gotta be your own man." He let that sit for a moment as Elliot did something on his phone. Christian got up and went to sit behind the desk, reaching for the piles of paper. For a moment he sat there and organized the paperwork that had accumulated in his absence.

"I keep hearing that." Elliot finished his beer, then crushed the can and tossed it into the garbage. He returned his unblinking gaze to Christian . "What am I supposed to do?"

Christian scratched the side of his cheek, wondering if he had the answer, and just said what he thought. "Do more than listen to folks. Do what feels right and the hell with what anyone says. It's between you and whoever is on your mind. No one else should come in between a man and his woman." When Christian glanced up and pressed his lips into a tight smile, he added. "Hey, I thought we were talking about _my_ woman problems, anyway."

"You asked." Elliot tilted his head. "What's got you going?"

"A girl like no other. I'm screwed if this keeps up." He rubbed his eyelids, his skin tightening at the image of Ana sitting inside the S & L. Alone.

Elliot stood up and walked to the door, grabbing his jacket off a peg on the wall. "Aren't you the person who is always telling everyone to be honest with who they are?"

"I hear you. Shut the door. I'm about to make a call."

_**Thank you so much visiting and reading this chapter. This erotic Western was so much fun to write and now share. **_

**THIS FAN FICTION STORY is published as Collared by the Cowboy featuring Brandon McLemore and Mia Santero.**

**Collared reached a rank of #1 Western BDSM Erotica Best Seller on Amazon as well as in the category of Erotica BDSM Suspense. **

**Collared is part of the Bad Boys series and Rose to #1 BDSM Western in March 2014. If you are interested in reading the whole story, let me know. I'll send you a copy…**

**Here's the thing…I've sent out several free copies and only few people have made good on this offer. So readers and fans, you have enough now to post a review on Amazon and I need the help. If you'd like a copy, post a review, send me the link and I'll send you a free copy.**

**Collared ASIN number: **B00IWHG0AW

**This book is so hot, it can only be accessed by the Kindle Store search window or by the ASIN number. Or by Google.**

**Hope you understand and…**

**Thank you!**


	10. COLLARED Chapter 10

FANFICTION…

**FSOG has gone Western.**

**Repeat after me: hell yeah!**

**Christian teaches Anastasia about a different type of touch, casting away the veils and washing away the walls she erected. By his unflinching ability to dominate her, she comes alive, willing to expose something buried, something locked away.**

**He frees her completely. Finally.**

**Chapter Fifteen**

Ana entered the club by the front door, wearing the wine-colored cloak and mask Christian had given her. Underneath, she wore a conservative wool skirt and button-down blouse, and had tied the cape so tightly it nearly strangled her. Her sub collar winked at the base of her throat, but was visible only if someone really took notice. She touched the platinum band several times, seeking comfort to squelch her nerves. Each time she ran her fingers over the surface, she heard Christian's deep voice. _"You're not going to weasel out. Are you a quitter?"_

She'd never been one to back away from trouble, and she'd proven that nicely by climbing into Christian's bed. No matter how many times she reminded herself of that, the second she stepped into the foyer her stomach knotted.

Mr. Keller nodded to her. "Good evening. Thanks a heap for your help last night. I heard you worked a miracle."

"No. It was a team effort." She fingered the satiny material of the cape with her fingers, and tried for a smile with some aplomb.

"Christian isn't here tonight," he said, his brows scrunched together. He stepped in front of her. It would come as a shock, the real reason she had come. She couldn't tell him she was here collecting information, and she didn't enjoy having him think she was here to have fun without Christian.

"Yes. I know. I'm here for a drink and to unwind," she said effortlessly. _My, oh my_. _Aren't I becoming a fast and easy liar_?

"Oh," he mumbled, and his eyes lowered from her face and landed at her throat. Marty met her gaze and shook his head, clearly confused. "Okeydokey. Enjoy yourself."

Ana nodded. "Don't work too hard."

She walked forward, stalling at the entryway into the bar, then decided it was now or never to take another solo flight into the club. She inhaled, tracing her fingers over the paneled wall before she took a step forward. There were members all around and she fell in line, trailing behind an ordinary looking couple.

"Looks like my luck just changed. Excuse me," a gentleman said to her, exiting the bar. He clasped her outstretched hand, lightly caressing her fingers and she stiffened.

Unsure of what to do, Ana responded. "May I help you?"

The stranger's eyes traced from her face downward, then immediately rebounded. "Delicious. But you're taken aren't you, kitten?"

She tugged her hand free, touched her collar, and notched up her chin. "Without question."

He bowed and Ana smiled, but didn't have a second to relax. She had to think fast to sidestep a small group of boisterous women who came barreling forward. The main lounge was hopping, and she scanned the bar for an open seat until Sam spotted her.

"Right here." He mouthed and motioned to her.

She smiled, relaxing somewhat, and took the seat he offered. "Phew. Thanks. Place is busy."

"Looks to be one of _those nights_." Sam shrugged, tossing up a bottle of liquor into the air that he effortlessly caught, and began mixing a drink. "What will you have? I can open a bottle of Cachè. Same wine from the other night."

"No way. If I drank a whole bottle, I'd be under the table. May I order just one glass?"

Sam winked. "I was given strict instructions where you're concerned. Anything you want. So go easy on me if you're into colorful shots."

"Oh, no. I have to drive. One glass of white wine is my limit."

She idly let her attention wander across the room, and almost gasped out loud. There was Beau. She hadn't seen him since he'd announced his intention to marry another woman. He was still put together in that conservative, cardboard cutout way: a man of medium build with hair greying at the temples. But his banker good looks no longer fascinated her. He had his arm around a long, leggy blonde, and she doubted the woman was his high school sweetheart. Definitely not, when she turned around and Ana noticed her fetish dress, with the cutout that exposed her _chest_. Beau ran his hands over the woman's body and she giggled, throwing her head back.

"Oh, naughty boy," the woman said loudly.

Ana rolled her eyes. She glanced around, wondering if anyone else was annoyed by the brash display, which bordered on cheap.

But cheap could get a whole lot cheaper. She clutched the edge of the bar, watching Beau push the woman down to her knees. He held on to the woman's shoulders until she knelt in front of him.

Ana choked back her indignation. That's not how things were done around here. She flashed Sam a look and he noticed her expression.

"Everything all right?" he asked, putting the glass of wine in front of her.

"Is that permissible?" She slanted her head toward the corner.

"I'll take care of it." With his face tense, Sam picked up his walkie-talkie, but she couldn't hear what he said.

Ana's stomach churned. She felt sick at having observed the beginning of Beau's uncouth public display. She didn't know if he'd actually done more than make the woman kneel. Maybe it was some sort of sub test. She swung her glance over her shoulder and rapidly closed her eyes. From the way he moved the woman's head up and down in front of his hips, it wasn't a game, but looked like the real thing. She felt hot, then cold. Not out of jealousy, but out anger for another sampling of his hypocrisy. What was he doing here? It wasn't guest night and she prayed he wasn't actually a member of the club.

Two security men approached Beau and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and seemed to gather himself, and Ana breathed out a sigh of relief. He had his back to her the whole time. The security guards reached down and assisted the woman to her feet. Beau just stood there and laughed to the men on either side of him. From the expression on the woman's face, whatever he'd said, she didn't find humorous.

Without any warning, Beau turned toward the bar and there she sat staring a hole in his face. Her lungs stopped working, and she willed herself not to wince.

It took every iota of stamina and will to keep her face turned toward him, especially when his focus appeared to target her. She gripped her seat, unprepared to deal with him as her heartbeat tripped unsteadily in her chest.

_Wait!_ She wasn't recognizable thanks to Christian directions—Beau couldn't know it was her. Tonight she'd worn her hair in a tight bun, and with the mask covering two-thirds of her face, and along with the cape, he'd have a hard time placing her if she kept her distance. When he looked over to one of the men next to him, she calmly turned away.

Ana felt a tap on her shoulder and was grateful to have a diversion. Mr. Penrose smiled down at her. "I have a phone call waiting for you. If you'd care to follow me?"

"My God, your timing is perfect."

"Is someone bothering you?" He looked down at her, then to either side.

"No. I'm fine." Her jumbled thoughts weren't helping her to come up with an on-the-spot excuse. "I imagine there's only one person who'd like to speak to me."

Mr. Penrose laughed. "No joke. I guess it's pretty obvious who'd have me come and find you. He's definitely on edge."

She slid off the stool and glanced up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Little lady," he smothered another chuckle, "I haven't seen Christian this put out in years."

"Mr. Penrose—"

"That's Penrose, no mister. Or just Pen to my friends." He smiled broadly, seeming to enjoy the opportunity to share his observation, and waited on her to respond.

"Penrose…" she faltered, confused about him commenting on her and Christian, especially when he knew she was here to do research. Not seduce the Dom. His walkie-talkie chirped and he held it to his ear, leading her down the hall.

They came to the stairs. "You can use his office. It's the second door on the left." Penrose spoke to the security at the stairs and relayed that she'd be up there with his permission.

She smiled at the men, then thanked Penrose before she scaled the stairs with the cell in her hand, her heart hammering faster and faster with each step she took. At the landing, she lifted the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"I miss you." Christian's deep voice surrounded her. She gripped the phone tightly, leaning into the wall, her knees suddenly weak.

"I miss you, too," she whispered. He softly laughed and she closed her eyes, imagining he was right next to her.

"Anastasia, do you have any idea to what extent you torment me?" He had that alpha male tone in his voice, and she flashed open her eyes. "We need to define when you'll have your phone on. As far as I'm concerned, that would be every minute, but I doubt it would be practical."

"I don't think practical comes to mind, when thinking about you and me." She glanced around and noted she could still hear the music and voices from below. They might be able to hear her as well, and she pushed off the wall, searching for his office.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Long and flowing and wine-colored. Sound familiar?"

"And underneath?"

"Grey wool skirt and a pink cotton blouse. Not very sexy. Thank you for the cloak. It works like magic."

"Meaning?"

"I feel invisible when I'm wearing it. Maybe I can walk through a wall."

He snorted. "I doubt you'd ever be even close to invisible. I heard things heated up over there."

Of course he would hear. She swallowed and brushed aside the idea of telling him it was her ex who'd violated the house rule of 'get a room.'

"Well, you know how people can get…your staff took care of it without anyone raising a stink. Very classy."

"Sorry about the show. It's not what we like to offer." His voice turned super serious. "Are you all right?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm more than aware it's not the norm," she replied, her stomach twisting and feeling like battery acid had seeped inside her body. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.

"Penrose will get the member's name, and this will be the last time he shows his face there." His voice rose.

"Please, don't do anything rash." She thought of Beau and his ability to seek revenge. For bankers and supposed Christians, his tight-knit family relished closing ranks and putting the squeeze on anyone who _displeased_ them. To her, they represented the worst example of ignorant bullies.

She inhaled and refused to think more about her ex and his idiotic life, personality, and family. "Tell me about your day. Rancher Christian."

"It was productive, and then I had to sit down with my brothers, which is a chore."

"Brothers?" She didn't know much about him, except that he came from a large family. His sister was in college and there were lots of them around where he lived. "How many do you have?"

"Four brothers and one sister, and they're all full of it." He laughed. "We're all pretty close."

"Where are you in the lineup?"

She turned the knob to the door and pushed in. His office appeared organized from the doorway. Desk, chair, shelves, area rug; nothing out of place. Tidy stacks of documents clipped together on the desk. As she turned to shut the door, she stumbled over her own feet. A deep red dress hung on a hook behind the door. Without thinking, she stroked her fingers down the butter-soft leather and her eyes widened at the places where material was strategically missing. _Oh. My. God_. This wasn't some cheap fetish dress, but a costly number.

She refocused on the cell phone, but Christian wasn't talking. "Hello?" she said, confused.

"Fourth from the top," he said. "What about you?"

"Me? Um. One sister. Probably about the same age as yours. She's the one who deals with my dad, while at the same time pushing all of his buttons."

She was rambling, nervously holding the phone sandwiched between her cheek and shoulder while she lifted the hanger from the door. The dress was tiny, except for the chest area. Replacing the hanger on the door hook, she thought how substantially different this dress was from the one the woman downstairs was wearing. Serious money had been spent on this dress. More risqué than anything she'd ever worn. The red leather dress she'd sported before was on the cusp of being very provocative, but this dress was a whole different flavor of expensive, wicked, and wild.

"Where are you?" Christian asked out of the blue.

"Upstairs. In the hall. Penrose said to use your office, but I couldn't wait to talk to you." She rolled her eyes. If she was going to avoid being a total liar, she could at least step back into the hall. Opening the door, she gasped. "Excuse me," she said, cupping the phone. A tall brunette stood on the other side. "Yes?"

The woman gave her the once over. "Are you on staff here now?"

"No. Just using the office for an important call."

"Then never mind." The woman pushed through the doorway and shot Ana a look over her shoulder, raising her eyebrow as if issuing a challenge to try and stop her from entering the office. Ana exited and turned around in the narrow hall. She and the woman stood there for a breath before the woman shook her head and moved further inside. Without wasting time the door closed with a resounding _Bam!_

Ana flinched, stepping backward, and bumped her head against the opposite wall. "Ouch."

"What is going on?" Christian demanded.

She rubbed the back of her head and whispered, "Someone…a woman just went into your office."

"Who?" he asked, his voice sinking low. "Club staff?"

The woman was dressed in faded jeans, a low-cut blouse and a leather jacket. "I don't think so. Should I get Penrose?"

"No. I'll phone him."

"Look, I'll stick around until he comes, then I think I'm going to leave. It's been a pretty busy night. I don't know how much of this experience I can use for my project. It's like being at a different place when you're not here."

"I can tell. Hold on. I'm putting you on speaker, so I can text and talk." His voice sounded like he was inside a stadium. "I just alerted Pen. Whoever is up there with you had to know our security."

"Whoever she is, she got my attention." Ana glanced at the shut office door again. _In that kickass, big-girl-panty-wearing-woman kind of way._ She wasn't going to delve into those details. He'd said it all. The staff knew her, so he probably did as well. Footsteps tramped loudly up the stairs and Penrose appeared with a pair of bouncers. Tonight, Christian's partner appeared frazzled, but why not? "Hold on. Penrose is coming upstairs," Ana said.

"It sounds like a zoo," Christian growled on the other end.

"Ana, excuse us," Penrose said, flanked by the burly bouncers. "You should probably go downstairs."

"All right." She began walking toward the back stairs and stopped in the shadows. She could hear the woman's raised voice, cursing Penrose up one wall and down the next. "Christian?" Ana asked.

"I heard. I'm sorry. One night away, and it's descended into chaos over there."

"Hey, I'll talk to you later." She wanted to ask just who that demanding woman was and what she meant to Christian. But she didn't have the heart, not when he was there and she was here.

"Baby, I hope so," Christian said, his tone flat. He had to be upset, if not frustrated, without knowing exactly what the heck was going on. She hung up and pushed the phone into her skirt pocket as a scuffle erupted in the hall.

The door slammed open and one of the bouncers stepped back and snapped at the tall brunette, "Don't even think about it. That way."

"Don't touch me! I'm not taking anything that isn't mine," the woman shrieked, carrying out a box balanced on her hip, with the red dress flung over the top.

"Jesus." Penrose said. "You want to be hauled out of here in cuffs? Keep your voice down!"

"Call the fucking police! Call the newspapers. I don't care. I'll tell them what I know about you and this secretive joint. Christian doesn't know what you've done, but I do. You're maxed out on your credit. Honey, I talk to your ex-wife plenty, and she'll own this place before too long!"

She saw Penrose jerk the woman by the arm. "Leila, you'll keep that gold-digger mouth of yours shut. You're one to talk. Creditors have been calling here every day, wanting to find you. Some dude showed up here last week, asking about you, and I doubt it had anything to do with selling Girl Scout cookies."

"I'm not scared. Take from Peter to pay Paul. Sound familiar?" she snorted. "And just for your information, I got myself squared. Tell Christian, this time I did the screwing. All my worries are over. Unlike you and this small-time shithole."

"You're a real piece of work." Penrose pushed her away from him. "Escort this _lady_ to the back exit. Then throw her out."

Ana gasped softly. No one turned around, but she held off exiting the club, not wanting to cross paths with the security staff, or that woman.

OUTSIDE in the parking lot, the snap of cold air hitting Ana's face made her hug the side of the building for a moment to catch her breath. She reached into the pocket of the cloak for her keys. She hadn't brought a purse with her tonight, and thank goodness. She couldn't go back into the S & L. Not without Christian.

_Oh God!_ It was worse than a soap opera. Any charm the club might have held for her vanished. She stepped away from the building and a burst of arctic wind whipped the edges of the cloak. A few strands of loose hair tangled over her face and across her eyes. She clawed at her cheeks, desperate to cross the parking lot without drawing attention to herself by slipping on the ice. No sooner had she thought about her ability to remain upright, than she felt her foot slide out from under her. Just a few inches, but enough to upset her balance, and she instinctively flapped her arms. She ended up skidding into the side of a car, with her heart pounding in her chest. On top of everything else that had happened tonight, this was the cherry on a sundae of horrible.

For a few long seconds, she stood with her palms pressed against icy-cold hood of the car, gauging the distance she still had to go until she reached her own car. The sound of raucous voices erupted from the other side of the alley. She'd been wrong. Horrible had so many more shades of awful. She recognized Beau's slurred voice, along with two others she didn't know. Ana glanced back toward the alleyway, and a jolt of horror shot through her. The sight of Beau's weaving shadow preceded his actual arrival in to the lot. Pushing the thought of falling from her mind, she spun around and locked her eyes on her car, parked up ahead on an incline.

"Damn!" she swore to herself, haphazardly navigating over a sheet of ice.

She couldn't find a place to step without her feet sliding backward. _Figures, I'd need a Sherpa._ Gripping the door handle of another car, she hoisted herself across the icy pavement, not an easy feat with her pulse racing and her mind spinning.

She started to scissor her legs, doing her best impression of ice-skating in heels. Her senses were on high alert with another round of jeering laughter that echoed off the buildings and she cringed as though Beau were right behind her. His voice grew louder as he recounted in detail what it was like to have sex in public.

Waves of desperation washed over Ana, made worse when he guffawed at his own suggestion that everyone should try it. The men with Beau asked if he would return to the club again. He said something that brought a round of laughter. His crude comments pierced her concentration and she lost her traction. She tumbled onto her knees, coming down on partially solid ice, and did a body slide into a puddle. The bite of freezing water and shock of falling wore off the second she realized she'd dropped her car keys.

_Where are they?_ She swung her hand out in front of her, her heart beating so fast if felt like it would burst from her throat.

Blindlyshegroped along the ground in the shadows, but she couldn't make out anything that resembled keys. Flailing her fingers, she brushed over familiar metal, and quickly she brought her hand back to the spot where she'd felt her keys, and scooped them out of the water. A thrill raced through her seeing the silver horseshoe pendant attached to her key ring, gleaming in the low light. She thanked God, but wasn't about to stick around a moment longer.

She glanced up at her car and the incline. _Oh. Shit!_ Lifting up onto her hands and knees, she crawled through the puddle until she was on level ground near the storm drain. Not far from her car now, she rose precariously and tottered the four remaining feet to her car door. She could barely hold her key steady. The tips of her fingers were numb making the job of shoving a key into a lock not as easy as it looked. Scrambling inside her car, she couldn't slam the door fast enough. Her whole body shivered uncontrollably and she wiped the windshield that started to fog with her breath. She had to leave, not just sit there half-frozen.

Her fingers trembled holding her keys out from her body. She bit down on her lip to stop her shaking long enough to slip the key into the ignition—another act of surgical finesse—then gunned the engine and backed out of the parking spot. Putting her car into gear, she was all too aware that even though her Civic was common enough, only a few people had a _Steele Ranch_ tag on the bumper. There wasn't an exit on this side of the lot, unless she considered the sidewalk. It was the only way out, other than chance driving right past Beau.

"Just go for it," she told herself. It was her one option and she took it. She clenched her jaw, and stepped on the gas, plowing over the sidewalk. Her car jerked, then shimmied, and settled down onto…more ice!

"Shiiiit!" she screeched. Her car started to slide and fishtail. The uncontrollable glide scared the hell out of her, but not enough that she couldn't handle it by clutching the steering wheel until she felt the grip of her tires on a clear stretch of the street.

After tonight, she'd need a long soak in hot bath or a shot of straight whiskey—or both. She tried to catch her breath, but it was frigging hard to do with her skin half-frozen and sitting in a dripping wet cloak.

_Got to get this thing off_. She trained her attention on the road, yanking open the ties at her neck. She shrugged the cape off her shoulders and followed up by flipping on the heater. The blast of cold air that blew out from the vents made her teeth chatter nonstop. She almost didn't notice the buzzing vibration against her hip. Dammit. She'd forgotten to return the cell phone to Penrose.

_Should I go back and return it?_ She shook her head and fiercely pronounced to the universe, "No. Freaking. Way."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MORE TO COME

Okay, we're a few chapters away from the one segment of this story that might separate some fans, but I truly hope not. I'm alerting you because I don't want to shock some…but there is going to be some pot smoking going on. Within Collared there are varying themes of abuse (upcoming), yet after witnessing far too many people with cancer and other conditions who are benefitted from medicinal marijuana, it is my prerogative to distinguish substances that pose a threat when consumed versus those which are subject to political and societal debate. I offer no judgments and hope I lose no readers. Thank you for taking this fictional journey within a story that is about love. Pure and simple, this is a romance.

**THIS FAN FICTION STORY is published as Collared by the Cowboy featuring Brandon McLemore and Mia Santero.**

**Collared reached a rank of #1 Western BDSM Erotica Best Seller on Amazon as well as in the category of Erotica BDSM Suspense. **

**Collared is part of the Bad Boys series and Rose to #1 BDSM Western in March 2014. If you are interested in reading the whole story, let me know. I'll send you a copy…**

**Here's the thing…I've sent out several free copies and only few people have made good on this offer. So readers and fans, you have enough now to post a review on Amazon and I need the help. If you'd like a copy, post a review, send me the link and I'll send you a free copy.**

**Collared ASIN number: **B00IWHG0AW

**This book is so hot, it can only be accessed by the Kindle Store search window or by the ASIN number. Or by Google.**

**Hope you understand and…**

**Thank you!**


	11. COLLARED Chapter 11

**FSOG goes country**!

A different shade as in hawt Western BDSM starring a Christian and Ana. In this shade a tall, dark, and booted cowboy Dom meets a grad student with a sassy mouth and what began as temporary, a means to an end…turns raw, chemical and so freaking real when these two lovers cross lines that get oh so tangled.

_A story about sex and the lies people tell themselves...like they're not falling too fast and they can get out before they get hurt. Love...not gonna happen.  
_

**WARNING: HOT ENOUGH TO PEEL PAINT!**

**Chapter Sixteen**

Christian made it to Paris in thirty-three minutes, his cell phone right next to him—no texts or returned calls from Anastasia—and swung into the club's rear lot, parking right at the back door. He scanned the lot and her car wasn't there, not that he'd actually thought she'd still be inside.

"Hey, Christian," one of the security man called out and he nodded curtly in response.

"Pen inside?"

"Yep. It's been a night," one of guys responded, exhaling that tidbit with the smoke of a cigarette.

Storming into the place, he found Marty and barked, "Where's Pen?"

"In a room with a sub. You need him right this second?"

"Tell him to meet me upstairs in my office, as soon as he's finished." Christian scaled the stairs and tried the door to his apartment. He entered, calling out Anastasia's name just in case Pen had let her inside. Empty. _Maybe she was in his office_.

He returned to the hall, his pulse racing, and approached the office door that stood ajar. "Motherfucker," he snarled, entering his office.

Drawers hung open drunkenly, and a few were on the floor, the contents dumped. His papers lay scattered across the floor behind his desk, and the closet light was on. He walked over, his focus on the club's safe. He bent down and twirled the knob from left to right until he heard the click and swung the heavy door open. Everything was as he'd left it. Cash, documents, and his gun. He'd changed the combination after Lelia left, but had failed to give strict instructions to the staff to prevent her from entering the office itself. She'd acted like she'd never step foot inside the place again, but he should have known better.

"Hurricane Leila showed up," Pen announced from the doorway, with a toothpick stuck in his mouth. "Out of the blue. The security crew didn't think to stop her."

Christian slammed the safe door shut, reset the combination, and stood. "What the fuck was going on?" he lowered his voice, keeping in check the temper that he knew had the propensity to get out of control if he didn't get hold of himself. A red haze blanketed his thoughts, recalling Anastasia's quavering voice when she'd described the scene that had unfolded with her here alone_….without him to deal with this fiasco and protect her._

"You can only imagine. Leila threatened, in bitch mode—as usual," Pen pushed off the door and walked inside. "Shit. I didn't realize this was what she was up to."

Christian's whole body flash-burned and he turned away from Pen, walked to the window, and took several deep breaths, clenching his jaw and fighting the urge to punch the wall. _Come on, get it together._

Probably the biggest reason why he'd found this lifestyle meshed with his personality so well, was his own training at keeping his temper from exploding into a storm, wreaking havoc on him.

At first it had been an outlet, and then with training subs, he'd become the thing he was projecting. Stoic. Controlled. More often than not, the BDSM world was playacting, where people came to the S & L and sought sexual gratification through a deviation from the norm of their lives. It wasn't like that for him. After years living life as a Dom, the ingrained control more than helped him master his anger…but every so often, a chink appeared in his armor. To get his head together, he would take a trip to the hunting cabin overlooking a ridge on the back corner of Evermore, desolate and reachable only by horseback.

Tonight that wouldn't help. He pressed his hands on either side of the window frame and stared out into the darkness, wondering where Ana was headed. That's the only thing that mattered—getting to her.

"Where was Anastasia?" he asked, swinging around.

The blood drained from Pen's face. "I gave her my cell and she came up here. She left when the shit hit the fan."

"Did she return downstairs?" Ana had said a woman had entered his office… _Son of a bitch!_

"Don't know. Like I said, she left before I found Leila carting out a load of her stuff."

"So you left Leila unattended to roam around. Just come and go?"

"Man, once I heard from you that she got into the club, I came up here. But I couldn't stop her. What was I going to do? You know if I laid a hand on her, she'd be the one to accuse the club of something. No fucking way was I going to set myself up, or jeopardize the club."

"Bet if she's back in town, it's got to do with money. Always was, where she was concerned." Christian pushed his frustration to the periphery of his thoughts as he considered what needed to occur, and in what order. One thought spun inside his brain without interruption, becoming more encompassing as each second ticked by. He needed to locate Anastasia and find out what the hell had happened. "I have to find Anastasia."

"Christian, this ain't that earth shattering. She'll be back. What's the big deal? The club is fine."

"_Fine_? Did you just say _fine_?" he asked bitterly. "Some asswipe is having his dick sucked in the bar, my fucking ex walks in like she owns the place, and Ana is missing. Just where in the hell is _fine_ in all of that?"

"Poor choice of words," Pen admitted. He raised his palms. "I meant that it's not so cata…Shit. You're overreacting. The building is still standing and the club is packed. Business is good."

Christian immediately understood his partner's point. "I get that the business isn't suffering. But this isn't just about business!"

"It sure as shit is," Penrose snapped. "So what if Leila came and got her stuff? I don't know a woman who, once the relationship is over, is going to act sane. Not my ex-wife and not your ex-girlfriend. It was a matter of time. And Anastasia…work her, like you do all those women. Shit, Christian, she's all wide-eyed and hasn't got a goddamn clue. That's why I thought it would be perfect. She's a plum ready to pluck. All you have to do is reach out."

"What are you talking about?" Christian snapped, unable to draw a breath.

"You've gone soft, if this is how you react to a naïve piece of ass. Man up, or dude, get the fuck out of the way. She wants to learn about the lifestyle, so teach her. Who the hell is top? Her or you? I know what part I play. Do you want me to take over?"

"You won't touch her." Christian's voice went dangerously low. His whole body convulsed and he curled his hands into fists.

"She came to _me_," Pen reminded him.

Christian's whole body tightened. "If you don't back off, we're going to have one fucked up mess on our hands."

"You letting a woman come between us?" Pen thundered back at him.

"Dude, I'm not the one threatening. I'm the one reminding you to back the fuck off. The only thing you're going to do is greet Anastasia politely, or you'll find out just how soft I am!" As he spoke, Christian stalked deliberately toward his partner until he stood toe-to-toe with Penrose. Both of them were glaring, unblinking at one another, until Pen threw up his hands.

"Fuck. What the hell are we arguing about?" Penrose backed away. "We're both on edge. I was way out of line."

For a few hard-to-find breaths he stared across at Pen, then nodded restlessly. "Must be the full moon," he ground out. Only then did he realize that he and Pen had come a hairsbreadth away from throwing a punch. His heart hammered in his chest and he bent down and picked up the papers on the floor, trying to collect his thoughts as well.

"What can I do?" Pen asked.

He glanced upward to his partner. "Make certain no one, and I mean no one, admits Leila."

"Shit, your no-admit list is getting longer by the day," Pen smiled then closed his eyes. "Sorry. My foot is down my throat tonight."

"Then make it right," he growled.

"Name it," Pen said.

"You still got that friend—a cop?"

Pen nodded. "We know several who come in."

Christian narrowed his eyes. "I need to find out Ana's home address. Her forms give some post-office box in town. I know she's got a roommate."

"That I can do. Give me a few," Pen said, and left the office.

For a couple of minutes, Christian sat outside the address of the apartment he'd gotten from Pen. Ana's car was parked on the street and he watched as several people came and went from the apartment building. He climbed out of his truck and followed the sidewalk up to the entrance. A couple exited and he caught the door, nodding to them.

He turned down a corridor and stood in front of apartment 1C. He knocked twice, and listened. The sound of footsteps approached the door and whoever was on the other side must have paused to look through the peephole.

The door opened a few inches. "Yes?" A young woman with blond hair and wide eyes looked up at him. "May I help you?"

"I'm here to see Anastasia."

"Anastasia?" She actually looked him up and down. "What's your name?"

"Christian Grey."

"Hold on a sec." She shut the door in his face and he could hear her footsteps recede from the doorway.

Once again, he heard the sound of feet walking across the floor. Sounded like only one pair and he was preparing to make his argument to get inside so he could speak to Anastasia, even if it meant through her bedroom—

The door opened and he stared into red-rimmed dark eyes, which stole his breath. "What are you doing here?" Anastasia asked in the softest voice he'd ever heard.

The urge to reach out and pull her to him just about overwhelmed his senses. He clasped the doorframe with his fingers. He'd had enough experience with scared fillies to know any sudden movements and their already skittish nature overreacted. In this case, a slammed door in his face would be less than helpful.

"Baby, I came to get you."

"It's too late."

"Anastasia, I'm sorry things got so out of control. It won't happen again. I won't let you be at the club unless I'm there."

She shook her head. "You don't understand. I can't talk about it."

"Anastasia, you know that's the only way to deal with this. Isn't that what you told Selma and Esme?"

"Good listening," she said, hugging her middle.

His chest ached to reach out to Anastasia. "Please," he whispered, and brought his hand up to her cheek. "Don't shut the door on us."

Her chin quivered against his palm and tears began to fall from her eyes as she shook her head. He pushed his shoulder gently against the door, wedging it open as he slid his hand down to her shoulder. "Baby, one night. The way we were meant to spend it."

She looked up into his eyes, searching, and he felt the tug on his heart. "And what will that prove?" she asked.

"Everything." He placed his other hand on her waist, and this time he drew her to him, slowly, as he moved toward her. "God, I want you so completely."

He kissed her temple and hugged her to him. Anastasia came willingly, though a bit stiffly, until he wrapped his arms around her. "I'm not good company tonight."

"Then let me take care of you," he said, lifting her chin. Staring down into her eyes, he felt himself drowning in the bottomless pool of her gaze.

He lowered his mouth, brushing his lips over hers, and an electrical current burst into life, rushing over his skin. He moved his hand to the back of her head, angling her face, and he licked across the seam of her lips. The feel of her mouth opening to him had him groaning in hunger. He took possession of her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth, lapping at the lush softness he encountered.

His cock lengthened in his jeans and he held back from pressing into her. "Where do you need to be tomorrow?"

She blinked at him. "I have a class in the morning."

"We can get a hotel room."

She swung the door open. "My bedroom is right over there."

He picked her up, and closed the door with his hip. He reached behind himself to lock it and walked forward. "That door? First one?"

"Yes." She began to unbutton the front of his shirt and bit her incredible lower lip.

"Don't do that unless you want me to throw you down on your bed and fuck you senseless."

"Is that what I need?"

"You might not, but it would work wonders for my frustration." He smiled down at her. "I want you naked and under me tonight. Skin to skin; and then you can tell me if this isn't working for you." He set her down, cupping her face for a beat, and felt his whole body blaze.

"Yes, Sir," she replied. She lifted the large T-shirt she wore and he held his breath. Dressed only in a bra and panties, she stood before him. Her skin gleamed golden in the lamplight and she met his gaze, lifting her hand to her neck and tracing her collar. That act pulled all of his nerves taut.

"Damn, you're a sight."

"If you catch the door, I'll go one better. Could you, stud?" It was all he could do to back the few feet away from her and close her bedroom door.

"You're beautiful," he said, mesmerized by her body. He'd imagined her naked as he'd fucked her every which way in his dirty imagination today. And now that she was almost unclothed, standing here and staring down at her was so much better than anything he'd done in his fantasies.

His cock jerked in his jeans. He reached down and pulled off one boot, then the other, not stopping until he stood buck naked in front of her. His dick stood out between them, throbbing to have her wrapped around him. "Take off the bra," he said hoarsely.

She licked her rosy lips, her hips inches from the crown of his cock, and every nerve in his body screamed to rip off her panties and thrust inside her. He threaded his fingers into her hair, lacing them at the back of her head where her hair was pinned at her nape. One by one, he removed her hairpins, tossing each one onto her nightstand as she lowered the straps of her bra. He held his breath when she unclasped the back and let it fall from her chest. Her breasts were full and her nipples dark, so lush and inviting his dick swelled and twitched from his sharp hunger to drive himself into her and join their bodies.

"Now, those panties. Take them off." His voice came out husky and swallowing was more than difficult, watching her push the slip of lace down her hips. He drank in the sight of the tiny strip of black curls between her legs, and the way her pussy parted—her pink folds teasing him to the point of breaking.

"Anastasia, you're beyond beautiful. Come here." He spread his palms out over her tits, kneading them, and thumbing her nipples. "I'm going to fuck you like an animal tonight. You okay with that?"

"God, Christian. After tonight, I need you to. Don't hold back on me." Anastasia pushed her breasts up against his hands, but she wasn't just into her own pleasure. She reached out to him, grasping his dick between her palms, and flicking her finger at the sensitive skin under his crown. The feel of her pert nipples elongating between his fingers and her warm touch on his dick had him coming undone.

"Darlin' you're driving me wild."

"Let me taste you. Please?" She bit her lip and fluttered her eyelashes. Man, she knew just what to say and do to have him off his rocker.

He couldn't resist taking hold of her by the shoulders and bringing her forward. He crushed his mouth down on hers, kissing her hard and rough. When he released her, he rolled her nipples between his fingers, his dick throbbing for relief so bad it hurt.

"Suck on my cock and then I'll take care of you like you need." With her hair wild and loose, he fisted handfuls, drawing her face down to his crown. He gritted his teeth as Anastasia smeared the droplets of pre-cum running from the tip, flicking her thumb across the stretch of tight skin along the back. He shuddered when her hot tongue swiped over the top. Not once, but several times.

"Mmm," she moaned, rubbing his swollen head over her lips and tongue.

"Anastasia," he groaned, captivated by the sight of her flattening her tongue and stroking his cockhead against it—sweet torture in letting her work him.

"Do you like that?" she whispered, gazing up at him. "Or do you want me to take you in my mouth?"

"Baby, you're such a tease." Liquid fire raced in his veins and burst at the wet kiss of her lips on his tip, hotter and torturous with her slippery mouth pressing down the sides of his shaft. He jerked, spurting more pre-cum into her mouth. The pressure to release mounted in his balls. Not yet. _Fuck, not yet!_ With her hair in his hands, he held her steady, and flexed his hips, plunging his cock into her mouth.

She moaned then began pumping her mouth along his stalk with just the right amount of suction and pressure.

"Perfect," he grunted. She was made to give him head. "Can you take more?"

She hummed, the sound catching in the back of her throat and vibrated over his dick. Silently he groaned, watching his length disappear into her pink mouth and come out shiny with her saliva.

"Sir, I love sucking your dick." She licked him, groaning in a husky voice, and he thrust back into her mouth, riding down her tongue and holding his crown at the back of her throat. He could feel her throat muscles slowly relax, and he pushed himself deeper as she opened her mouth wider.

"Fuck!" He slid farther down her throat …and then a little farther as she swallowed him and then he rocked back, dragging his shaft out and clenching his jaw. "God, you're incredible. Take me again."

Anastasia held his shaft at the base, her slender fingers not fully encircling his girth, and she sucked forcefully on his crown before she said, "Do it."

The pulsating tension at the base of his spine flickered, and he sped up, running his crown against her hot silky tongue. "Shit. I'm going to lose it watching you swallow my cock."

He drove himself forward until her lips grazed his balls. He flexed his hips, lifting up off his heels, and the angry burn in his calves increased as he stared down at Anastasia taking him deeper into her mouth. He fought to keep from detonating as her dark pink lips encircled him in a band of mind-blowing pleasure. She blinked, her lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks and he whispered, "Again. Relax, baby. Swallow me one more time."

He slid out of her mouth with her lips gliding snugly along his shaft and she gripped him with both hands. Cool air glided over his glistening cock and the interplay of hot and cold had him grinding his teeth to maintain control. His abs tightened as Anastasia ran the tip of her tongue around the rim of his crown.

"Come in my mouth," she whispered, her breath a hot caress on his cock.

Christian almost shot his load hearing those aphrodisiac words. He directed Anastasia's head back down his shaft and proceeded to fuck her mouth. She took his length, slowly at first as he guided himself back down her throat.

"Sweet lord," he murmured, savoring the satin heat of her mouth enfolding his entire length. A rush of chill bumps erupted over his torso at the sight of his cock withdrawing from her luscious lips. Again, he thrust into her mouth, fisting her hair and stroking his thumbs over the hollows of her cheeks as he popped past the muscular rim at the back of her throat.

"That's it baby. A little more." He ground his teeth as he coaxed her to swallow and accommodate his cock.

He plunged again and she took his entire length until he was repeatedly fucking her mouth, lips and throat. The erotic sensation of her taking him from tip to root spiked his hunger. The muscles throughout his body contracted. The firestorm of lust and need erupted from his cock as a crack of lightning exploded at the base of his spine and shattered into bright dots, blinding his vision as he came with wrecking ball force inside Anastasia's mouth.

She sucked him, swallowing his release, and holding on to his shaft through the mini-bursts of aftershocks. She licked around his head as he shuddered.

"Sir," she moaned, and again pulled his crown into her hot mouth, looking up at him with glittery, lust soaked eyes.

"Baby," he groaned, tangling his hands in her hair, and pumping the last drop of his release into her greedy mouth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MORE TO COME.

**THIS FAN FICTION STORY is published as Collared by the Cowboy featuring Brandon McLemore and Mia Santero.**

Collared reached a rank of #1 Western BDSM Erotica Best Seller on Amazon as well as in the category of Erotica BDSM Suspense.

Collared is part of the Bad Boys series and Rose to #1 BDSM Western in March 2014. If you are interested in reading the whole story, let me know. I'll send you a copy…

Here's the thing…I've sent out several free copies and only few people have made good on this offer. **So readers and fans, you have enough now to post a review on Amazon and I need the help since Amazon refuses to allow my book into their regular search and they have the exclusive rights to Collared for ninety days. Impossible to find since I'm not a huge publisher who can battle them. If you'd like a copy OR JUST WANT TO HELP, please post a review. A few words really, really, really helps.** Send me the link and I'll send you a free copy.

Collared ASIN number: B00IWHG0AW

This book can only be accessed by the Kindle Store search window or by the ASIN number. Or by Google.

Hope you understand and…

Thank you! Big time.


	12. Collared by Christian Chapter 12A

Chapter Seventeen

"There's a hot dude at the door," Kate had announced. "He's asking for you."

Ana had set down her textbook and removed her glasses, not that she'd been able to remember a thing she'd read from the chapter about Freudian projection.

"By name?" she'd asked, her skin shrinking as well as heating. Couldn't be Christian…could it? _Don't be crazy._ _He has no idea where I live_.

"Yup. Christian Man-Candy Grey. Dang, I'll take that version of _'grey' _if you're too busy studying."

"Oh, God!" she'd said, her pulse rocketing up somewhere near the stratosphere. Her racing mind still bordered on disbelief that he'd turned up here, and completing the emotional overload was a smidgen of panic.

Any shock that remained from seeing Christian on her doorstep had dissolved with the feel of his cock fucking her mouth. His raw sensuality overpowered her until she was sucking him deep then deeper. She couldn't believe it was possible to get him down her throat, but with his hands woven in her hair and his voice coaxing her to take more of him, she wanted to swallow all of him, from root to tip.

The sensation of his hard-on in her mouth created ripples of pleasure throughout her body. Without a stitch of clothing on and with him holding her head, her body took over. He was thick, hard, and unrelenting against her tongue. His gaze guided her while his fingers entwined in her hair, pulling on her scalp, and burning all worry from her mind. She lost track of her thoughts as his voice enticed her to take more of him. Thrust after mind-altering thrust, he had her racing to the edge as the coil in her belly tightened. Kneeling in front of Christian, he fucked her mouth like a savage—and she loved every damn second.

He gazed down at her, his Greek-god body towering over her. A small part of her hummed in satisfaction, knowing she'd brought this powerful man to the edge. She sat back on her heels, highly sensitive to the throbbing within her pussy. She felt slick and swollen with her knees pressed together and the pad of Christian's finger tracing her lips.

"Baby," he murmured.

His cock was rock hard as though he had hadn't just exploded down her throat. He tasted so damn good, and thinking about taking everything he had to give—the moment when this dominating stud groaned her name, rubbing his fingertips over her face, and telling her what it was like to fuck her mouth—she'd stopped thinking, and it was pure sensation that washed over her skin like a contact high. She needed him.

"Please, Sir," she said, without shame. "Fuck me."

"Get into bed," he growled, his eyes roaming down her body. "You deserve to have your ass smacked and rode. Hard. I was worried about you."

"I'm sorry, Sir," she said, lowering her gaze.

Christian took hold of her arm and with his other hand he cupped her chin. "I called you. Two phones, and both of them you refused to answer. My calls didn't roll to voicemail. You knew damn well I was concerned, and on my way back up here."

No point in arguing. It was true. She swallowed but it didn't help. The lump of confusion had grown within a throat that was now raw from him, and at the same time she hungered to feel his power commanding her, his body owning her. Damn, she'd give anything to do it all over again.

"Maybe you should spank me," she said softly, pushing off the floor and standing in front of him.

"No." He tilted her chin. "I'm not going to spank you tonight. You're sad and upset. I'm going to take care of you. You've dealt with my frustration and need. Anastasia, don't shut down on me. The rest of the night is yours. Let me take care of you."

"You're hard to deny. But you already know that. Don't you?" She stroked a finger down his pecs and over the rippling dips and contours of his abs. She stopped just millimeters from the base of his dick, tracing the edge of the trimmed dark hair surrounding his hard-on. She relished that he took care of himself. His cock and balls were a work of art. "Do you want to fuck me from behind?"

"God," he groaned low. "Baby, I'd love to take you like that. First, I want face-to-face, skin on skin, my name on your lips. It's all about your needs. Now."

He jerked his chin to the bed and this time she complied. She sat down and scooted backwards. "Come to me," she said, and parted her thighs in invitation.

His eyes heated, appearing feral, but he didn't rush forward. His consuming gaze roved down her body, then he frowned. He climbed onto the bed and gingerly picked up her calf. "What happened?"

Her knees were scraped and one of her calves was badly bruised. She clenched her jaw and replied, "I slipped. In the parking lot."

Christian's face changed from hungry to tense, his clear eyes darkening from blue to endless black. "Did someone push you?"

"No. I was walking to my car," she said defensively, and realized he'd pick up on her tone. She calmed herself, taking on an impassive expression and returned his gaze. "There was ice. I slipped. End of story."

"Something's missing," he said, and moved over her body. His hard torso skimmed over her. It took no effort for him to push her back against the pillows, his eyes searching her face. "Start talking."

His hands slid down her sides, opening her legs so wide she was stretched and vulnerable, yet he held off claiming her. "Please. Nothing matters except you inside me."

"There's a difference between relief and running away. Baby, I'll give you what you want. Just talk to me."

"Christian. I promise. We'll talk later. Don't make me beg." She curled her hands around his neck and hoisted her hips, rubbing herself over his cock. His hand lowered between their bodies; she felt the tip of him tease her and she arched, bringing herself closer to him. Oh dear God, this man was going to drive her to the brink. She bit her lip to keep from demanding that he do more than torment her.

"Give yourself to me. Every inch. Every ounce. Ana." His warm breath caressed her cheek as the taut thread in his voice commanded her.

"Yes," she exhaled a needy whimper as his fingers separated her folds. Christian slid a finger into her and she arched against him, her fingers digging into his hard flesh. "I'm right there. So close, I swear, you can't imagine."

Christian's gaze consumed her on the spot as he fingered her. "I love to watch you come. So beautiful."

"Then let me," she said with a husky voice.

"Not yet. Anastasia." He lowered his hips and drove his cock into her, not stopping until he'd lifted her hips, hauling her up to him.

"Baby, I'll be careful of your leg. This should be just what you're after." He flexed his hips then reentered her. She bowed her back as he slid inside her, slower this time, going deeper, and she felt every inch of him stretching her. The muscles over his body flexed and the fleeting tease of shadows along his skin were enticingly seductive.

"Christian," she moaned, reaching for him.

He caught her hand and kissed her palm, then lightly bit the side of her hand. "Let me own you," he whispered.

She rolled her hips, squeezing his cock as he palmed her breasts, pinching her nipples. "Please. More."

He withdrew his cock again, hovering at her entrance. "Baby, don't fight me. I'll take care of you."

"I won't."

"Better not." He thrust into her and she moaned. Holding himself aloft, he ground down between her legs and she stopped struggling. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he pummeled his hips in a driving force. He nipped at her shoulder, down her arm, and all the way to her fingertips. He pressed up against her body, his smooth skin sliding across her belly, and his mouth started anew. Velvet heat, the slide of his mouth up to her neck, he tangled his fingers at her nape, tugging her hair, and he didn't stop pounding his hips between her legs. So intense, he picked her up, fucking her over and over until his name on her spilled from her lips.

"Christian," she moaned.

"Baby." He ran his palms over her knees, and hesitated, a look of concern spread on his face. "Don't want to hurt your lovely knees."

She let him arrange her, twisting and angling her body, holding on to her thigh, and then his hips moved, drawing and driving his whole length into and nearly out of her in powerful thrusts, each harder than the last.

"Please…" she hissed.

"So fucking sexy," he murmured. "You come when I tell you."

She inhaled, trying to wrap her thoughts around his order. Their bodies fit together as though made from fluid bones and flesh. Over and over he entered her, penetrating her in a way that she'd never felt before, as though she were losing her mind. His hands pulled her upright at one point, wrapping her legs around his waist and he lifted her up and down over his dick. Christian erotically commanded her, freeing her to feel and not think. He was over her, a pounding force between her thighs; then he stopped, hauled her from the bed, and instructed her to bend over. "I'm going to love watching my dick go in and out of you."

"Oh. God," she whispered, riding the wave of euphoria he crafted. She seesawed on the verge, and dug her fingers into the bed. "So good."

He leaned across her back, his deep voice rasping against her ear. "Eyes on me, Ana, always. Even when I'm behind you. Don't come until I give you the word. Understand, beautiful?"

She glanced over her shoulder, nodding at him as he stood behind her, hoisting her hips high in the air with her forearms pressing down on the bed. He slammed into her, the feel of him stretching and filling her to the point that she began to shake. Christian increased his tempo, sliding in and out of her in short pumps, rubbing against her G-spot, and it felt like the floors and walls in her world gave way.

"Sir," she cried out, her body clenching. Her muscles trembled. She pushed back on him, bowing upward.

"Now, sweetheart. Come for me, baby."

She burst apart and came hard, calling his name. She fisted the sheets, squeezing around his cock, and he kept pumping into her. She floated for several seconds, until her knees seemed to liquefy and she swayed. Christian withdrew from her, murmuring her name and caressing her skin. He picked her up and carried her to the center of the bed, laying her down and spreading her legs.

"Christian," she moaned.

"Open for me. All the way." He bent over her, his finger spreading her folds and his wet and warm mouth fastened onto her, making her breath catch.

Oh dear Lord. He was going to drive her crazy. He drew a slow swirl with his expert tongue over her clit, teasing her. Torturing her. She let go of a sharp hiss and held on to his head, yanking on his hair, arching into the sensual heat of his mouth as he pierced her with his tongue and fingers, urging her to come again. He scraped his teeth over her clit, unleashing a thousand rivulets of scorching pleasure in her belly.

Her body buzzed, and she clung to him, begging. "Please. I need you. I can't hold back." She lay on the mattress, a golden, glowing haze threatening to fill her once more.

"Not yet, Anastasia. Mine. Watch what I do to you," he commanded in a deep, husky voice as his breath scalded her swollen flesh. He locked and held her gaze as he sucked on her clit, his large hands pulling down on her thighs, and she writhed wildly against his mouth in a riot of shattering sensations.

"Christian, please." Her knees shook uncontrollably, the pressure inside her almost too much to contain. He pressed his mouth to her inner thigh and the scrape of his beard-roughened skin nearly sent her over the edge.

"We're both close. Almost there." He lifted his shoulders from between her legs as he came up onto his knees.

"So close," she echoed his words, watching erotically mesmerized as he stroked his swollen cock a couple of time before he arranged her legs over his shoulders.

"Baby, I'm going to fuck you. God, I'm going to really fuck you now." Pressing his fingers into her skin, he thrust deep inside her, releasing a husky groan that vibrated his chest. The smooth muscular contours along his back went rigid under her calves and for a moment, he held their bodies flush, giving her time to accommodate his hard-on.

He partially withdrew his cock, tensing from the erotic pleasure of withholding, and elongating the moment.

Then when it seemed like they both would crack, he barreled into her, his cock hot and hard, and he pumped his hips without stopping. He refused to slow, even when their skin slickened with sweat and their breath came out in pants. He moved deeper inside her, slamming and slapping his hips, holding her against him.

"Now, Anastasia. Fuck, now!"

She shattered with his name on her lips. The storm within her body quieted to a roar and then she was flung high on his next thrust, into splintering ecstasy. His body arched and he paused in mid-stroke, calling out her name. She looked up to see the corded muscles in his shoulders, neck, and arms flexing as he released.

"Ana," he groaned, rocking his hips back against her before he came down onto his palms, caging her.

She held out her arms and he slowly lowered his torso as a shudder rippled through him. When they were belly to belly, he wrapped his arms around her and their hearts beat rapidly, chest to chest.

"Thank you for coming over," she murmured, brushing away strands of sweat-plastered hair plastered from his forehead.

He tightened his arms around her. "Baby, sleep. I have some early morning plans for you."

She glanced up at him, tracing the chiseled lines of his profile, and her breathing stuttered. He was ruggedly handsome, and with his eyes closed he appeared less volatile. The force he carried, that burned in his gaze, muted with the slight smile tugging his lips.

The realization that he was staying the night sent a spark of joy through her. He didn't come over just to prove that he could find her and control her. He'd come and taken care of her, as he'd promised.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Chapter 16 part A. Part B is out tomorrow. Please share. Help get the word out that Collared is up on FANFICTION.

**The 411:Collared by the Cowboy is published as a stand-alone book, featuring Brandon McLemore and Mia Santero.**

**Collared is part of the Bad Boys series and Rose to #1 BDSM Western in March 2014. If you are interested in reading the whole story, let me know. I'll send you a copy…**

**Some fans here have been very generous in requesting copies and posting a review. Yet considering other authors have hundreds of reviews, I lag behind and Amazon still refuses to allow Collared into their regular search even when much more racy titles are featured. **

**So readers and fans, you have enough now to post a review on Amazon and I need the help. If you'd like a copy, post a review, send me the link and I'll send you a free copy.**

**Collared ASIN number: **B00IWHG0AW

**This book is so hot, and like I said, it can only be accessed by the Kindle Store search window or by the ASIN number. Or by Google.**

**This isn't my hobby, this is my job. Indie authors rely upon fan support. Word of mouth. Sharing is seriously caring in this industry.**

**Hope you understand and…**

**Thank you!**

**Breaking the Bad Boy is due out this summer. Book 6. I hope you all are ready for more FANFICTION! **


	13. Collared by Christian Chapter 12B

Okay lovelies, it's about to get so very freaking hot in here!

Hope you enjoy the second part of FF Chapter 17a uploaded yesterday.

Give a YEE HAW for FSOG done with a Texas twang.

**COLLARED BY CHRISTIAN GREY**

SOMETHING was off. She'd slept the entire night in strong, warm arms. Bands of muscle that held her against a formidable chest, and a mouth that kissed her shoulder, nuzzled her neck, and laughed in her ear. Now that slice of heaven was missing. She turned over and Christian was gone from her bed.

She sat up, balanced on her elbows, and inhaled. It was shy of six in the morning, based on the red digital numbers shining from her clock. She heard the front door of the apartment shut. That would be Kate, on her way to clinicals. Her roommate was in the same grad program, and after last night, well that only solidified Anastasia's decision that she couldn't continue to 'study' Christian. But at what point had he left?

No note. Not exactly a reasonable expectation for a man like him. _Bad generalization._ She stopped herself before she dissected her entire night. Again. Wasn't it enough that he'd come and taken care of her? _Put his proverbial Dom money where his talented mouth was?_ She closed her eyes, biting back a groan, and squeezed her legs to ease the pulsating ripples growing and demanding relief. What was happening to her? Christian had unlocked an unexplored side of her, and instead of lessening, it was taking over her thoughts with greedy, lustful desire. Each time he'd fucked her, this erotic craving to be dominated had escalated.

She gasped in mid-thought as the door to her room opened and a pair of sapphire eyes targeted her. "H-Hey," she stuttered.

Christian carried in two steaming mugs. "Great morning," he murmured, smiling. "This is just to get your engine started."

"You've been busy," she pulled back the covers for him to join her in bed.

"Baby, not enough as far as I'm concerned."

She wound her fingers around the warm mug as she admired Christian's shirtless body, clad in jeans slung low on his narrow hips and encased his muscular thighs. "Come on back, cowboy," she said in a husky voice.

He set his cup down and unzipped his pants. His naked, rock-hard body was enthralling to watch in this impromptu striptease. And he more than rocked her world when he revealed his hard-on and that beast was at eye-level with her.

"Whoa," she whispered and couldn't help an involuntarily gasp.

Sliding in next to her, he met her wide, open stare and picked up his mug. "I promise not to bite," he said, gazing over the rim of his cup.

Her heartbeat sped up. "And here I was hoping." She could hardly string cohesive words together. Her brain stuttered even more as she tried to act like she'd done this a thousand times. "I can take you, cowboy."

He laughed, tweaking her nose. "My little warrior. Forever ready to take up arms."

Heat flooded her cheeks. "Not always." she returned and sipped her coffee.

"Girl, even you don't believe that whopper." He laughed, shaking his head.

"Okay, fine." She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling at him. "Maybe a smidge."

"Don't change, darlin'," he said, running his commanding hand over her thigh. "I like your sass. Most of the time."

"Thanks for the coffee." She turned her hip toward him and rubbed her ankle along his muscular calf.

"Your roommate pointed out the coffee and cups. I can make a mean omelet, if you're hungry."

"I am. But not for eggs." She felt safe with him and didn't feel the need for pretense. "This is the first time a hot stud served me…in bed."

When she'd lived at home or on campus at a women's college, men in her room hadn't been a possibility. This apartment was her first grown-up venture into independent living. To say her father was overprotective didn't capture his provincial level of parental worry. He'd raised both her and her sister with a loving, but iron, hand. It had taken a month of arguments and her leaving in the face of his threat of no help, not a dime, if she took an apartment away from home. Even Margo, her younger sister who was out on the rodeo circuit, riding bareback and on a roping team, had the pleasure of a fulltime chaperone.

"Happy to be the first," he said, stroking her face. "Very glad in fact, if that matters."

"It does."

"So what's on the menu this morning? Since you're hungry." He traced his fingers over her cheek. When she didn't respond right away, he channeled his fingers into her hair and tugged lightly. "You're thinking way too hard."

She sat up and ran her finger over the rim of her mug. Clearing her throat, she met his gaze. "Today, I'm officially withdrawing from my senior project. I have an appointment with my advisor."

He nodded, tilting his head, and let his hand drop to her shoulder, then grazed it down her arm. He gave her a little squeeze on her wrist. She expected him to demand to know why and ask rapid-fire questions. Then she understood, he'd probably expected this…isn't that why he'd come to find her? "What will you do?" he asked quietly.

"I heard from the treatment center where the girls are. Dr. Cane, a psychologist there, asked if I would be interested in working with the twins. It's last minute, but still a good project. More like an internship. They were impressed with our crisis intervention. I gave them a provisional treatment plan to implement and yesterday received the green light. Dr. Cane would serve as my supervising counselor on the case." She paused and added, "I'm going to accept."

"Probably for the best. I don't want you at the club unless I'm there. Will you come back if it's strictly social?"

She lowered her gaze to the sheets she was twisting between her fingers. "I don't know." How could she tell him that she'd seen her ex there… and that Beau was the jerk in the bar? And then there was the situation with that woman—

"We need to talk," he interrupted her thoughts. "For now, I'm putting aside my hunger to fuck you blind. What happened yesterday?" He searched her face, his intense gaze stilling her worry.

Inhaling, she decided this wasn't the moment to run. If she wanted her future patients to trust her, she'd better develop some trust herself. "That man in the club yesterday…"

His brows knitted. "That's not routine. I'm addressing—" She placed her fingers against his lips.

"My turn."

Christian nodded and his lips curved under her fingertips. Her heart wrenched in her chest, thinking about what she had to say. She inhaled, running her fingers down from his handsome face, tracing his silver chain along his neck until her hand rested on his chest. Carefully she said, "That was my ex."

His eyes widened. "Did he approach you?"

"He didn't know I was there. I wore the mask and cloak, and I left when he started doing..." She motioned vaguely, unwilling to fully describe what she'd seen.

She watched Christian's massive shoulders and chest rise and fall with a deep breath. "You're not getting back together with him. So what's the deal? Are you embarrassed about the club?" he asked.

"Of course not. We broke up because he thought I was beneath him. Not good enough to introduce to his family. Not the marrying kind; that type of thing. He used me. I was repulsed seeing him. The thought of seeing him again at your club—no, I absolutely can't. I won't!"

"Whoa," he said, setting his mug down and then reaching for her. "I still don't know how that man gained entrance to the club. We've only recently discovered someone is handing out fake club passes. After last night, he won't ever get back into the club. We take driver's licenses for anyone coming through our doors, so no way will he ever be admitted again. Someone's got a vendetta against the club to be doing this type of crap. The other clubs around here let anyone walk in. We don't. It's why some people choose to patronize my club. We've got strict rules for a reason, and I'm pissed off that someone is doing a number on me."

She swallowed, her hands growing cold. "I might know who."

He looked up at her, the blue of his eyes glinting. "Who?"

"That woman who was in your office. She was really harsh to Penrose. Venomously."

"Shit," he swore. "Did she say something to you? Do something?"

"No. Not to me. We crossed paths in the hall." She hadn't told him about the red dress. "That's not true. I lied. I told you I wasn't in your office, but I was. I saw the red dress and she left with it."

"Anastasia." Christian bolted upright in bed and his grip tightened on her arm. "I want you to listen to me."

She wasn't about to start grilling him on the _who's _and_ what's_ that went down last night. They stared at one another and the only sound in her bedroom was their breathing. His pulse skittered rapidly in a vein along his neck.

"Go on," she said, scanning his face.

"Apparently it was a reunion night for ex-partners. Both of ours, and an awful coincidence for anyone. I didn't know Leila was going to show up. The dress was hers. I bought it and I only kept it because she sent me an email saying someone would come by to get it. That was months ago, and I should have trashed the damned thing. I'm glad it's gone and she took whatever she believed was hers. But I'm not carrying some torch for that woman. I was on the receiving end—just like you—of being used."

"I don't want to be the person who talks trash about your old girlfriend."

"Trust me, that line is already long enough." A bitter smile thinned his lips.

"Still," she argued. "It's tacky. And for you, I'll just say that she and Pen bickered about some money and loans. One she procured, and it sounded like she was pleased to have put something over on you."

The skin over his chest and up his neck, all the way to his hairline, darkened in seconds. He stared back at her, his eyes narrowing in thought, and he squeezed his lips together. If anyone was struggling with composure and winning the battle, it was Christian. She, on the other hand, was a bag of nerves. Her body felt knotted from the inside out. Instead of feeling jealous, her hands and fingers turned cold as she watched Christian's reaction—or lack of one.

He sucked it all in and scrubbed a hand down his face. "Promise me, this isn't the end of us."

How could one man captivate her so effortlessly? "I don't want it to be."

"Sometimes," he murmured, taking hold of her and bringing her down next to him, "I just want to disappear. With you."

"Me too," she whispered, stroking her hand up his cheek, which clenched under her fingers, a muscle twitching at his jaw. "Lie down."

He did as she requested and she sat up, moving from the warmth of his body and the blankets, to straddle his hips. Clasping his cock in her hand, she rose over his tip, swiped him across her slick folds and eased herself down onto his length. The sting of him entering and stretching her held her focus. A wave of pleasure washed over her, making her nipples pebble and the sharp ache of want and need spark, threatening to detonate if he didn't thrust into her soon. She impaled herself on his length, and he curled his fingers around her hips, lifting her up just as rapidly.

"Press your palms into my chest," he directed her. "Ana, I need you to ride my cock with those hips of yours."

"I'm going to fuck you senseless," she panted and did as he instructed. Their eyes met, a firestorm between them, and he groaned. Christian hauled her up and down his shaft as though she weighed nothing. The friction and pressure tangled inside her until she it was like liquid fire swam inside her body, she was ready to melt. "Please. God!"

"Not yet! Hold on."

"Then hurry."

He grasped her hips, bringing his cock deep inside her then twisted his body, spilling her onto the mattress. Still embedded inside her, he pressed his finger to her clit, stroking her like he was a master musician, and she a prized instrument. She arched and cried out, begging him to let her explode, and he moved his fingers to her nipples.

"You'll wait, or I'll stop and fuck your ass."

"Not helping," she murmured, squeezing his cock with her pussy in retaliation.

His husky laugh sent chill bumps racing around her body. "Oh, you'd like that? Noted."

Christian pinched her nipples and fucked her harder and faster as she tucked her fingers under the headboard. She pushed her hips against him, wanting to take everything he had to give her. "Please. I'm so close."

He grunted, hoisting her hips and changing the pitch of his thrusts. "That's it. Clench around my dick. God, you drive me insane with how you do that."

Beads of sweat burst along his temple and dripped down his face. She was losing ground. Cascading ecstasy floated around her, making it difficult to think, and she slipped over the edge.

"Come for me," Christian whispered against her ear, taking the shell into his mouth and teasing her with a bite. He trailed his mouth along her neck, searching for the spot. There, he found it, claimed it and sucked it to the point that drove her crazy. He bit down on her neck, fucked her wildly with his cock, and he cupped and owned her breasts.

"Christian!" she yelled his name. Her body burned out of control. Christian's voice and body were everywhere. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. She struggled for air and her mouth filled with his scent—clean and masculine. His scent spilled down her throat, into her lungs, and swam within her blood like ether bubbles that exploded under her skin.

"Say it again, Ana." He thrust into her deeply. "I want to hear it."

She inhaled and screamed against his neck, "Fuck me! Harder!"

He held on to her thighs, lifting and thrusting into her, holding her gaze until his eyes rolled back into his head and he called out her name. Not once, but several times. She held open her arms to him and he came to her, his cock twitching deep inside her, and his forehead pressed to hers. They remained entwined, their breathing ragged, her thoughts a wreck, and it was an utter mess but just so fucking perfect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~and yes, there's more to come!

If you like this version, let me know. Plans are in the works for writing a sequel to this story, but for me to do that, I need to know it's of interest. So do you give a Yee Haw?

By the end, cast your vote by posting your thoughts. What do you want to see more of?

And thanks for reading, sharing, and posting your reactions. Yesterday, in the middle of writing, I took a break and snorted out loud from a fan's post. Thanks for the stress relief! It helps.


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